


Seven Thousand Lives

by Connor_Is_Best_Boy



Category: The Cat Lady (Video Game), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Crossover, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Gun Violence, Horror, Idiots in Love, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Mutual Pining, Original Character Death(s), References to Depression, Self-Defense, Sexual assualt, Suicide Attempt, Things Get Worse, Viktor and Yuuri are happy in the end, Viktor dies too much, Viktor is a badass, Viktor saves Yuuri's life, Wedding Night, Yikes, but also a complete dork, but don't worry it's temporary, im so sorry, like a lot, no wait I lied, story summary was updated, things get better after Yuuri shows up, this would be slow burn but I have no self control, whoops, wow this got dark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-16 17:15:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11833347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Connor_Is_Best_Boy/pseuds/Connor_Is_Best_Boy
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov takes his own life, depressed and alone in his apartment at his dog's side. When he opens his eyes again for the first time since his death, he finds himself in a beautiful field of golden barley. He meets an old woman there, who he presumes is death. She gives him a second chance at life, in exchange for surviving the cruelty of five serial killers. When he awakes, he believes that his conversation with death is just a dream, but it soon becomes very apparent that he's being hunted down. Yuuri Katsuki appears in his life again, for a second time since the banquet, and Viktor finds himself falling love with him all over again. And it's with Yuuri Katsuki's help, that Viktor can survive until the very end and find his happiness in life again.





	1. The House In The Woods

**Author's Note:**

> I've been debating about posting this story for a while, but now I will because I'm completely determined to finish it. The story is based on one of my favorite horror games (The Cat Lady.) I highly recommend you check it out. All comments are highly appreciated!

_“The fear of death follows from the fear of life._  
_A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.”_  
_-Mark Twain_

Viktor had made the decision long before the sun had a chance to rise. Long before the rain could stop, long before he left his spot on the couch in the sitting room. Viktor stared ahead at the far wall blankly, his mind empty and void. His dog sleeping calmly at his side, his chest rising and falling slowly, unaware of what was to become of his master. Viktor stroked the dog’s soft, curly fur with a cold hand.

He usually felt cold. Pale and freezing even in his warmest clothing. The feeling of coldness never left his skin. It sunk bone deep into his ankles, his knees, his cheeks, his ears, his fingertips. It left a pink shade at the places it nipped and bit.

It was the type of pink that came from scraping your nails along skin too much in one place. The people he passed had always called it beautiful. The pinkness in his pale white skin was gentle and echoed with grace, but Viktor just felt so cold. Even in warm weather and on the hottest days of summer, he felt the cool, icy chill in his skin, just under his muscles; sinking, freezing, and burning. Viktor felt like this, more than he ever would, on the days when he was alone.

On the days he sat on that lonely grey couch in his all too lonely grey apartment. His dog was the only thing that kept him together on his loneliest days. His dog would keep him warm and dull the ache of the pink in his skin. But Viktor hadn’t felt much of anything for a long, long time. His life had been a series of empty pitfalls and tragedies, but after that, unimaginable successes.

He rose to the top time and time again, and he stayed there and simply never left. However, an emptiness had always plagued him. Even as he stood at the top of the podium with a gold medal around his neck, he always felt like it was a heavy weight, sinking him down to the bottom of a deep pool to drown him. He felt like it was a metal chain, clasped around his neck, chaining him to the floor, where he would never move again.

It was a constant illness, following him everywhere he went. To parties, to clubs, to the park, to his grey, empty apartment. It made every drink he swallowed down, one of poison. Every meal he ate, untouchable. Every lover he took home, unsatisfactory.

Every morning, a chore. Everyday of his life, an endless, empty loop. Viktor buried and suppressed the feeling like a model actor. He smiled for the press and was there for the team and even went with his friends to public events and parties. But even if in the moment, the feeling was dulled, it was always there.

It was always in the back of his mind. It ate at him like a parasite and stayed attached to him, always. A part of Viktor had always wanted to take a knife from his kitchen, cut it out, destroy his body, and make the feeling stop, but he was stronger than even that. And for years he endured it all on his own. He kept it to himself and never said anything about it to anyone.

And as the days passed, the feeling only got worse. There was only one day that Viktor had felt the ‘parasite’ truly leave him. Where the feeling had completely slipped away from him. Where the chains were broken, and the food he tasted and the champagne he drank once again had meaning and merit to it, for all but one night. It was the moment Viktor saw him, a drunken Japanese man spilling champagne all over himself, that Viktor found himself grinning without forcing himself to.

That he found himself pulling his phone from his pocket and taking pictures and videos of him. That he found himself laughing and blushing and ginning as the man stripped out of his suit jacket and started a dance off with Yuri Plisetsky. He found himself rooting for the younger man with black hair as he danced fluidly, the style changing and twisting into a Spanish Salsa as the music changed too; Yuri eventually giving up and sinking away back into the crowd of gaping and confused sponsors, skaters, and coaches. Viktor felt his feet buzz as he snuck into the dance with the drunken man ever so slightly. Dancing with him unnoticed in the back, having more fun than he had had on the ice in a long time.

The change came so swiftly, that Viktor didn’t know when it began and when it ended, the Japanese man suddenly turning his attention to him and moving in sync with the man before him. Viktor felt his heart leap and his smile turn into something truly joyful when the drunk man took his hand and spun him around and laughed. The man wrapped his arms around his middle, spinning with him and twirling Viktor out of his arms and back in again. Viktor yelped in surprise when the man dipped him back, slinking his hand very softly under his left leg and lifting it up to support him. The man beamed down at Viktor with a charming smile and Viktor felt the breath fade from his lungs for a moment.

The man holding him was everything to him in that moment, and it was like all those years of nothing finally meant something. Viktor was entranced the rest of the evening by that drunk Japanese man, who’d swept him off his feet, who'd swung around on a pole in only his boxers in the most graceful manner, who’d danced with Yuri and Chris, who was now in his arms, grinding on him with his ugly suit tie wrapped around his head. This man who clung to him, and with the cutest slurring Japanese accent, asked him to be his coach. Viktor gasped softly, his eyes alight with what must’ve been blue jewels as they sparked more than he’d ever remembered they could. But then Viktor went home, and the parasitic feeling returned. He never spoke with that man again, with only the vague memories on his phone to remind him of the impossible joy that he once felt.

Viktor watched the videos sometimes. He stared at the pictures more than what he considered healthy, but he didn't care. But even that too, lost its purpose. He stopped looking through them, and then he was back to his old routine. The old but familiar sense of pointlessness and emptiness.

Viktor went back to the coldness and the feeling of nothing. And it was like the entire world had lost its spark. The only times he ever felt his face light up into a small smile anymore was when he was petting his dog, skating on the ice alone, or when he remembered that Japanese man’s request. But the days went on, and there were no signs for him to follow, to find that man. It was just him in those pictures and him in those bright, happy memories.

But Viktor had given up nearly two months ago of having any hope of finding him again. And so Viktor sat on that small grey couch in the sitting room, staring at the far wall as he reflected on what was left for him to live for. Sadly, he found that his reasons could be counted on only one hand, and he found that hand to be so very cold. Yet it was too late, even now.

Viktor had made the decision, long before the sun could rise, long before the rain could stop. Long before he could leave his place on the couch beside his dog. A few minutes ago, he had swallowed almost an entire bottle of sleeping pills; all he could find in his bathroom cabinet. He felt his eyes droop slowly closed as his heart slowed down to a steadying beat in his chest.

He felt colder than he’d ever felt in all his life. More alone than ever before as he stared at the wall, the curtains drawn open to reveal the dark of the night just outside his apartment. But Viktor didn’t regret what he’d decided, and he wasn’t sad. He felt ... relieved. He felt so calm.

Mila would come by tomorrow early that morning to walk with him to practice. He’d left the door unlocked for her, and when she would find him, Viktor knew, she would take care of Makkachin for him. He knew that she would love that dog and take care of that dog for as long as she could. It was all Viktor wanted.

It was hard for Viktor to move, even now, and it was even harder to speak. He felt so weak, but Viktor forced himself to turn and grip Makkachin’s small head gently between his hands as he stared directly into the dog’s black eyes and smiled. 

“Be a good dog for Mila while I’m gone, okay?” Viktor whispered in a shaky voice as he felt tears well up in his eyes, hugging the dog to his chest as he stroked him behind the ears, “I’m going to miss you.”

The dog woofed softly as Viktor laid down on his side, holding the dog in his arms and he sighed so softly, it seemed like there was no sound at all. Viktor felt the dog settle at his side as Viktor looked up at the ceiling weakly, his surroundings swimming around him in a blurry tango, his mind softening as all thought left him within a few breaths. One breath. And then another. Until the only thing Viktor could feel was the cold, and nothing else.

* * *

 Viktor jerked awake, throwing his head back wildly into the air as he let a new breath fill his lungs. He glanced around quickly, expecting Makkachin to be right by his side and to see the familiar layout of his grey apartment. Instead, Viktor found himself in a field on a hill. Tall golden barley swayed in a gentle westward breeze, surrounding him on all sides. It brushed against Viktor’s face and tickled his nose, getting into his silver hair and sticking to his shirt.

The air was cool and fresh, the sun’s golden rays setting fire to the evening sky and lighting the stalks softly aglow. Viktor rose to his feet, gazing off in the direction of the setting sun. Barley swayed peacefully across the sunbaked hills, running off the edge of the world in a silent race with time. He turned and looked out, a smile immediately finding its way to his face unforced, as he sighed softly and laughed to himself.

“ _I'm free,_ ” he whispered breathily as he continued laughing, “I'm free!”

And Viktor just laughed and laughed, happier than he'd felt in all his life. Death had freed his mind. And so he ran.

He raced through the field and down the hill, jumping and spinning and breathing in the air as deeply as he could, cherishing every breath he took. Despite being alone now, nothing felt cold. The grey, icy feeling gripping at his skin was completely absent. In fact, he felt warm. So warm, it made him cry with joy.

The warmth was comfortable and soft, like fabric that had just come out of the dryer. So comforting that you want to hold it and wrap yourself in the feeling forever. But Viktor didn't need to yearn for that anymore, because the feeling was all around him. It was surrounding him and swaddling him like a blanket and the most comforting of hugs and Viktor couldn't believe why he'd ever wanted to live if this was what the afterlife was like all along. Viktor laughed only once more and twirled again for good measure when he suddenly stopped short at the bottom of the hill, as every good feeling in his body faded instantly.

There was a thick forest directly before him, its darkness so dense it looked suffocating. Despite how thick the forest was before him, between the crowded branches of the black oak, Viktor could see a lone wood cabin, out in the distance with smoke rising slowly from its chimney. He felt a chilling feeling overcome him, and spread to every part of his body. Someone else was out there in the woods. Viktor took a deep breath before stepping out into the forest before him, snapping branches out of the way and ducking under thick, winding roots.

He stepped around carefully, slipping occasionally on the fallen leaves as he looked out ahead towards the cabin in the distance. As soon as he had entered the forest, it was like all light had faded from the world. Like the sun had been pierced by the dark spear-like branches stretching out into the sky and was left to bleed to death behind the horizon. As Viktor continued walking, every instinct in his body protested, telling him to turn back, to make his way back to the field of barley. And yet, he didn’t.

He didn’t turn back. He had no fear. If he was already dead, then he had no reason to turn back; to be afraid of anything. And so he didn't. He stopped suddenly, his gaze locked with the broken structure ahead.

Smoke emitted from the crooked chimney, before disappearing into the orange and red evening sky above. Viktor approached the porch slowly, the air around him feeling unnerving and thin. It choked him without having to surround him or lay its claws into his skin. Viktor kept his gaze glued to the forest floor; a sixth sense telling him to turn away, but Viktor didn't move. He flinched when the sound of creaking wooden floorboards met his ears.

He didn’t look up out of fear. Fear of what? He didn't know. He kept his gaze drawn strangely to the floor of the wooden porch. He could see shoes and the ends of a ripped skirt as the person approached him slowly with labored, twisted steps.

Viktor looked up to meet their eyes, and at first sight, his knees grew weak with horror as a shiver shot up his spine and the pit of his stomach turned cold. It was a woman, but he hesitated to call her even that. Her gaze was gaunt, her eyes a pearl, creamy white and as dim as the sun that set behind him. She had wrinkles on her worn brow, under her tired eyes, and stretched over her long, bony fingers. Her hair was a silvery-grey that fell unkempt in front of her cold, glossy eyes, which pierced straight into Viktor’s.

Her slender frame was slightly disfigured, the bones in her neck and spine cracked and snapped at grotesque angles. Her shoes were black; her skirt, a dusty grey, which hugged her disfigured hips tightly. Her over-sized blouse was yellowed far from its original white, the lace in tatters, its floral print faded and grey. The old woman smiled to him, showing off her yellowed teeth.

“Welcome to my house, Viktor Nikiforov. I’ve been waiting for you. I knew you would turn up, one fine evening like this,” she greeted, her voice slow and hollow like the wind — her tone shaking and bitter.

She spoke in English with a gentle Russian accent, but there was no breath in her throat and no air in her lungs. Viktor paused, wondering how she knew his name, but right now, that was the least of his concerns. He huffed quietly before speaking.

“Who are you?” Viktor asked quietly, fear still squeezing his heart and crushing it so tightly he thought it might rip apart.

“I have so many names. It’s hard to pick one, but I’m curious. Who do you think I am?” she asked curiously, her index finger running over her lips in contemplation, much like he did himself.

“You’re an old woman who lives in the woods,” Viktor replied cautiously, his brow furrowing.

He waited for her reply, which did not come soon. She remained silent, her hand lowering to her side as she thought. She laughed slowly, a broken croaking noise which fell from her throat as she outwardly mocked Viktor’s conscious ignorance.

“Am I _really_ , Viktor? Are you that naïve? Or perhaps you’re too stubborn to see me for what I really am. I’ve waited all this time for you, and now, _you disappoint me_ ,” she spat as she pushed a few stands of silver hair from her pale face.

Viktor looked off to the side in silence, unwilling to challenge her by shouting something petty back. Viktor’s eyes wandered to her hands, which held a bouquet of tattered, charcoal black daisies.

“Those flowers you’re holding ..."

Viktor paused as the woman held up the dead flowers to him with a slender arm.

“I’m going to put them on your grave, Viktor. After everyone has gone,” she told him, her lips pinned into a smile that seemed to make her look even older still.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Viktor began, “I _hate_ flowers.”

The woman smiled less, lowering her arm and taking a wobbly step backwards, her ankles rolling at painful angles. Viktor moved his gaze to the peeling wood of her cabin, the cracked and dusty windows and the yellowed, dead wreath pinned beside the open door.

“I rarely invite people in, but you are special and I’m going to make an exception,” she continued again, “Today, you are my guest of honor.”

There was a moment of silence, as nothing but the wind rolled past.

“What will happen now?” Viktor asked.

“That depends on you,” the woman replied. “Inside my house, there are dark hallways that lead to places you don’t want to see. But there are some things that will make you want to return to where you came from and cherish every single little breath you take.” She looked him over patiently. “Now, I’m going to make you an offer, Viktor. It’s a chance only a fool would refuse, and you are no fool.”

Viktor thought for a moment.

“What will you be able to offer _me_?” he wondered quietly. “I just threw everything away.”

The woman’s glossy eyes scanned the darkening forest. The trees above them began to shake, their gnarled branches twisting like crooked hands. The wind howled, as the green leaves flew around them in spirals, before scattering about the forest floor.

“Come inside. I’m afraid it’s gotten quite cold,” she brought up suddenly.

Viktor gazed at the open door hesitantly, before stepping up the squeaking wooden porch steps. He glanced at the woman beside him and then to the door, before stepping inside as she limped in beside him. The walls surrounding them were covered in dusty paintings. They were all of the same scenery; a lonely sea shore, with the blues crashing with the greys in a synchronized dance. The walls had paint flaking from its surface in small curls, exposing the old floral wallpaper beneath which had begun to rot and yellow as the years drifted past.

The fractured windows were haphazardly repaired by dried flowers and bundles of dead moss stuck in between the cracks of glass. To Viktor's left was a dark hallway with more corridors branching off of it and into unknown places. To his right was a single door, and beside that, a piano. The piano stood upon one leg, the other half resting on a stack of thick, leather bound books. Many keys of the piano were replaced with lit candles.

The rest of them were yellowed and stuck in place, unable to play a sound any longer. All around them were candles melted onto rows of shelving, their glow as radiant and as bright as a torch. The candles’ flames were strong and steady and seemed to emit no heat and no smoke into the air.

“Now we can talk properly,” she said.

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” Viktor brought up, his gaze narrowing in frustration.

“I have never paid attention to what the living call me. But there is one name the Devil uses when I speak to him. I find it most accurate ..." she explained, before stating proudly, “He calls me, _Pneumonia._ ”

There was a quiet pause before Viktor spoke again, encroached and cautious, with a fear he couldn't begin to describe.

“Will I be punished for taking my own life?"

“Most would be, Viktor, but not you. You see, I’ve watched you for so long, I know why you took those pills,” she explained, after a small, thoughtful silence, “I don’t expect you to believe me, but I actually have sympathy for you.” She was right.

Viktor didn't believe her in the slightest. “So like I said, I’m going to make you an offer. I want to help you. I want to give you back your happiness, in exchange for one simple task. Your life will change completely. You will be your old self again," she continued, frowning suddenly, “I was standing _right beside you_ when you took those pills, you know ... I brushed your hair every night, when you were all alone. I know what you've been through as a child. I saw _everything_. I know what you want, but it’s not here. It’s gone, and it will never come back."  
  
Viktor’s eyes widened when he unexpectedly found her gaze to be condemning and cold. He turned away.

“What is your ‘simple task’ then?” Viktor finally asked, shoulders stiff and rigid with anticipation. “What can you fix for me that life has destroyed?”

Pneumonia shook her head.  
  
“Viktor, death can fix _nothing_ ,” she explained sternly, “Though we are both dead, I am not death. I may just seem like a strange old woman to you, but I am just as powerful as a God." She stopped and observed Viktor for a moment. "Though I am powerful, there is only so much I can do. That's why I need you to go back and face five people,” she said, gazing up at him with her ivory eyes.

“That’s it?” Viktor wondered, confused.  
  
Pneumonia frowned.

“No. Viktor, they are not ordinary people — they’re very special. Just like you. But only in a slightly different way.”

“Who are they?” Viktor asked.

Pneumonia scowled at the very mention of them.

“They’re _parasites_ ,” she spat in a repulsive manner. “That’s what I call them. They don’t know each other, but their destinies are bound together. They’re dangerous. You’ll have to keep your eyes open and be constantly on guard. They might want to get closer to you. They might even pretend to be your friend,” she said. 

She lifted her finger and pointed at his chest. “Remember that they have nothing but cruel intentions. They’ll want to hurt the people you know. They’ll want to kill you.” Viktor gulped the air down heavily as he tried to breathe. “Viktor,” Pneumonia spoke again. “As harmless as they might appear, those parasites are the scum of the Earth and they all _deserve to die_.”

“Why me?” Viktor asked as he shook his head.

Pneumonia took his question into careful consideration.

“You are special, Viktor. The best I could find,” she answered. “You will be my hunter, serving punishment for their sins. You will be a tool of death. My fallen angel, walking through a river of blood,” she continued. “Only then, when the task is complete, will you find your purpose and the warmth in life again.”

“But how will I recognize them?” Viktor asked.

“I cannot tell you. You will have to trust your instincts, Viktor. There is no other way. You will know them when you meet them,” she responded, chuckling in amusement. “Bring those deceitful bastards in front of me, and we’ll make them regret for everything they’ve done,” she spat, her hands clenching into fists as boiling rage bubbled under her pale, veiny skin.

Viktor tried to swallow but his throat was as dry as sawdust, his hands trembling slightly as fear drove into him like a knife.

“And you expect me to _kill them_?” Viktor wondered, fearful.

“No, Viktor! I’m expecting you to fight for survival. To do everything you can to defend yourself,” she explained. “I know you wouldn't kill anyone. Quite the opposite actually — you’re a good person. But those people will want to cause you pain and they won’t hesitate. In the end, you may have no choice.” 

Viktor felt his knees shaking as his heart pounded heavy in his chest. “And remember, Viktor, you are not their only victim. If you don’t stop them, the killing will continue. Innocent people will die. You have the opportunity to make a difference, with a chance to save yourself,” she informed sternly, each detail she added causing the fear in Viktor’s chest to grow. “But Viktor, no matter how special you are; you are weak. That’s why I have prepared a special gift for you— ” she continued slowly.

She rose higher on the balls of her feet to look him directly in the eyes. She grinned almost too widely for her face as she tilted her head to the side with a _snap_. “— _Immortality_ ,” she declared as she raised her long and slender arms above her head. “You _cannot die_ , Viktor. You _will always_ return to life no matter what happens to you. As long as they are alive you cannot die.”

Viktor shook his head in denial. This couldn’t be real. There was no way. “But there is a catch,” Pneumonia began again. “If you tell anyone on Earth about your immortality, you will remain immortal, even after the parasites are gone.”

“How do I know that I’m not just dreaming this whole thing up?” Viktor asked in fear.

“You will know in due time.” She then gestured to the door beside the piano. “See this door?” she asked him, as Viktor nodded, “Let’s go inside.”

Pneumonia limped forward as Viktor followed her. The door beside the piano was polished to a fine shine and had a golden door handle, which gleamed in the dim light as the sun descended in the sky. Pneumonia twisted the golden doorknob and pushed it open. A chilling breeze blew in from the open door and swept into the room, causing the candles’ flames to sway and twist, but to never go out.

The place on the other side of that door was dark, cold, and empty. Viktor didn’t want to be anywhere near what was on the other side. Pneumonia stepped over the threshold, turned back, and beckoned Viktor to follow her deeper inside. Viktor stepped in just as the door shut behind him. It was pitch black for a moment, with nothing but the sound of the wind and the smell of rain.

Then, almost instantly, light filled the room. It was a dim light, cast down onto the surrounding room and Viktor stopped where he was, recognizing it instantly. It wasn’t a small, confined, empty room, but his grey and lonely apartment in St. Petersburg. He stood there, beside the couch, as if nothing had happened. Viktor's eyes widened as he gazed at the grey couch beside him.

“Are you afraid of death, Viktor?” she asked, laughing as Viktor's hands began to tremble.

Viktor shook his head quickly, shutting his eyes.

“No,” Viktor returned strongly, his shaky voice deceived his words.

“Are you afraid of something else then?” she pondered. Viktor paused, as if contemplating an answer, but his response never came. “If you do not fear death, Viktor. Then I ask of you to look at what you left behind.” Viktor took a deep breath, before turning and opening his eyes haltingly.

Mila stood in his apartment doorway, the morning light streaming in through the open curtains as the scene in his apartment changed.

“V-Viktor ...?” Mila stuttered as she struggled to put her words together.

Viktor held his breath for a moment, as he watched her drop her equipment bag and coffee to the floor.

“Mila ...” Viktor whispered quietly, but she wasn't even looking at him.

Instead her gaze was locked with the couch, where Viktor could see himself laying, unmoving. Makkachin was wooing sadly as he nudged Viktor’s arm with his nose and Viktor had never felt so selfish in all his life. Viktor watched as Mila made her way over to his body and fell to her knees beside him. She placed a hand against Viktor's chest, where his heart would be, and then her eyes filled with tears as any happiness Mila had for the coming day evaporated completely. And Mila cried.

She sobbed like Viktor had never seen before as she grabbed Makkachin gently and buried her face in his fur and wept, grabbing the brown curls tightly in her fingers as tears poured down her face without resistance. Viktor forced himself to turn away and close his eyes. He tried to ignore the terrible feeling that rose up in his stomach, as if maggots were burrowing into his gut. He desperately ignored the pounding against his chest from the heart that he didn’t have, from the heart he didn’t want.

“Open your eyes, Viktor. It’s your friend, Mila. She came to say, 'hi.' Go on. Greet her,” Pneumonia began as she cackled to herself.

“No. _Not this_ ,” Viktor responded crudely. “This was exactly what I was trying to run away from. I don’t want to be here. Make it _go away_.”

Pneumonia made one swipe with her wrist, and then the apartment was gone.

“It’s not here anymore, Viktor. Everything you left behind is still waiting, and it’s further away than you think,” Pneumonia returned quietly. Viktor hesitantly opened his eyes. “I thought it would be wise to give you a taste of the suffering you’d endure. I want you to understand that you can keep going, _long after you can't_.”

They now stood in a dim and quiet room. A black sun set in a dark sky behind them as leaves circled in spirals of bitter wind. Barley swayed and twisted about them on all sides as it rooted down into the polished wooden floor beneath their feet, their eyes remaining locked. “It’s time to make a decision, Viktor,” Pneumonia began. “The parasites are coming, whether you want it or not. You must decide: us or them.”

Viktor nodded as he finally made up his mind with a gleam in his eyes.

“I’ll do it my way,” Viktor replied proudly, confidence brimming high in his chest.

Pneumonia physically enraged, the strong impulse keeping her patient and restrained, finally ripping apart.

“Don’t you understand that there is no other way!?” Pneumonia yelled as she shook her head.

Viktor grinned pleasantly, his determination growing stronger.

“There is _always_ another way,” Viktor retaliated with glee. “So I’ll find another way _without you_. After all, how else would I surprise people?”

“What?” Pneumonia blurted out in a mixture of rage and confusion.

“I appreciate you giving me a second chance. Really, I do, don’t get me wrong. I see what I need to do now and I’m ready to try and fix my life. But I can do that _without you_.”

Viktor smiled, and this time, it was a smile that reached his eyes. Pneumonia took three violent steps towards Viktor and clenched her fists tightly, forcing her arms to remain at her sides with the last of her restraint.

“YOU FOOL! You _damned arrogant_ fool! You have _no idea_ what you have just done!” Pneumonia screamed at Viktor, her voice harsher than the cold wind that whirred around them in an icy embrace. Pneumonia released her fists, as she breathed in and out slowly, her chest rising quietly as she struggled to remain calm. “But fine,” Pneumonia snapped back in bitter acceptance. “Have it your way. In the end, I will be the one laughing at _you_.”

“Don’t laugh too hard, old woman. You might break something,” Viktor replied smugly, his lips turning up into a self-endearing grin.

Pneumonia huffed bitterly as she scowled.

“When we meet again, you will beg me _on your knees_ to give _you_ a _second chance_ ,” Pneumonia hissed in bitter exasperation.

Viktor laughed as he placed a finger to his lips in thought.

“I don’t really believe in second chances, so I guess I’ll just have to disappoint you — _again_.”

There was a moment of silence between the two strangers for some time. Pneumonia studied him intently, her eyes narrowed, her lips drawn into a scorn of discontent. And then Pneumonia vanished, and so did the dark room with her. Viktor stood alone, in the house in the woods, his back to the lone door beside the piano, his eyes locked with a shelf of candles that glowed luminously in the dark. Viktor looked around for any sign of Pneumonia, but he was alone.

The sun had long set by this time, with nothing but the broken glass and the candles’ flames to keep him company. Viktor faced one of the many shelves of candles and studied them for a bit. He unconsciously leaned in close to one of the flames and huffed his breath against it softly. The flame resisted for a moment, before slowly dying out and fading into black. In the darkness, the world around him swam and danced, until everything blended into one shapeless and colourless object.

Then, as the world faded from his eyes, a radiant and blinding light shined through. And Viktor felt the air fill his lungs as he took his second, first breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	2. Second First Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might be wondering, "Why did you post the second chapter a day after posting the first one? How did you write that fast? Are you even sleeping?" 
> 
> Well, you see, I wrote both chapter one and chapter two at around the same time and since chapter two was already finished, I figured I should post that too. 
> 
> Mind you, chapter three will take quite a while to update because a certain someone shows up *wink, wink* *nudge, nudge* But, still, I promise to have each chapter done within a few weeks of each other. All comments are highly appreciated!

_“A single rose can be my garden._  
_And a single friend can be my world.”_  
_-Leo Buscaglia_

Yuri Plisetsky was a selfish brat. He could admit that to himself once in awhile. He recognized this when he yelled at some fan and accidentally made them cry or when he kicked Georgi or Viktor in the shin. But never had he really felt more selfish than when he got furious over Viktor Nikiforov not giving him any attention. He hesitated to call anyone his friend, let alone be nice to stuck-up jerks like JJ, but Viktor was someone he looked up to.

He wanted to be like Viktor, to beat Viktor. It didn't help that Viktor didn't even remember his promise to him, but Yuri found himself hoping that he might one day remember it. Viktor was nice to him in his own way, but Yuri constantly wished that Viktor gave him more attention. He wanted Viktor to teach him, to acknowledge his talent, and he found himself frustrated when Viktor did not. And then he'd realize that Viktor probably didn't care, and that Yuri was just a selfish brat.

Maybe Viktor didn't give him more attention because of the way he sounded, or the fact that Viktor much see him as just a child and not nearly as talented. Regardless of anything he did to try to gain his attention, Viktor didn't acknowledge him the way he wanted and it made him so angry. But Yuri knew that as long as he kept waiting and kept hoping that his promise would be remembered, Viktor would only grow more distant from him and then it would be too late.

So when Yuri heard that Viktor had swallowed all those pills, he was so mad. Angry, livid, furious. But he was hurting so much. It hurt in his chest, in his eyes, in his throat. It felt like an insult. That the person he looked up to, aspired to be like, and beat fair and square, had tried to kill himself.

What the fuck was wrong with him? He had everything. He had more talent than every other skater in the world. He was rich, attractive, and he had people throwing themselves at him left and right. So what happened?

And why wasn't Yuri enough of a reason to stay? Why didn't he say anything to him? Why didn't he tell anyone about what he was going through? Yuri was so upset, so angry that it hurt, but he didn't cry.

Instead, he stayed angry. He forced his anger to overpower any sadness that could've reared it’s ugly head from his throat and the pit in his gut. And he was angry, so angry. And he was determined to keep that feeling there so the tears would never reach his eyes, so that he didn't have to feel bad about Viktor Nikiforov trying to throw away everything he had.

“If he dies, I'll kill him!” Yuri growled as they sat in the hospital’s waiting room.

Georgi slouched in one of the chairs, frowning. Yakov had a hand on Mila’s shoulder as she cried. She'd been crying on and off for days now. As much as Yuri tried to be unfeeling, he really didn't like to see her like that. None of them did.

“I don't think that's how it works,” Georgi replied.

“Shut the fuck up," Yuri hissed back as he crossed his arms bitterly.

Georgi just shrugged. Mila lifted her head as she wiped her eyes quickly.

“I can't believe he'd — That he would — But he always looked so happy ...” Mila choked out as she hunched over and put her head in her hands as she cried.

Yakov pat her shoulder softly in comfort, but it only made Mila sob more. Yuri tapped his foot impatiently and pulled his hood over his head roughly in a pout.

“This is stupid. We should just be able to go right in whenever we want. We know him, so what's the problem?” Yuri grumbled.

“Patience, Yura,” Yakov responded, frowning.

“Patience, my ass. I hate hospitals.”

“That's enough, Yuri!” Yakov yelled back.

Yuri waved his arms in frustration as he sat up in his seat.

“See, even you're not patient enough to handle me today! So why should they expect us to have to wait to go in and see him?” Yuri asked as if Yakov just proved his point.

Georgi finally perked up in his seat.

“I think they have to get him in a stable condition first. People who overdose on sleeping pills can sometimes go into a coma, so if he is in one, then who knows when he's ever going to wake up. So if we were to see him now, he might not even be awake,” Georgi brought up seriously.

“Oh god,” Mila sobbed.

“That bastard better be awake now, or else I'm going to go in there and kick him conscious,” Yuri growled, frowning sadly. “There’ve been so many articles about him already, I’m considering blocking CNN and FOX News. Why won't they just shut up about him? It's not like he's officially dead or anything. It's been three fucking days. Isn't that enough time at least?”

Georgi spoke up again, shrugging his shoulders.

“I don't know. I mean, they had to pump his stomach and check his internal organs and —”

“Oh my god, that's disgusting. Shut up. I don't want to hear it,” Yuri interrupted loudly, scowling at Georgi, who sighed, “Ugh ... it’s been literal hours now! Why haven't they come out to talk to us yet?”

“It hasn't even been ten minutes,” Yakov stated blankly.

“Whatever. Same thing," Yuri sighed dramatically, groaning.

A few moments later, a nurse finally came over to them. She was smiling softly, her eyes gentle and kind. It was a hopeful sign.

“Are you all here to see Mr. Nikiforov?” she asked.

“Yeah, duh. And you sure took your sweet ass time,” Yuri answered passive aggressively, hissing when Yakov reached a hand over Georgi and smacked him in the back of the head, “Ow! What was that for?”

“Mind your manners,” Yakov scolded.

Yakov sometimes felt like he was dealing with actual children, not athletes. Yuri rolled his eyes before turning back to the nurse, who smiled awkwardly back at the four of them.

“Well ..." the nurse began nervously. “You'll be happy to know that he's in stable condition now. He was in a coma for three days, but luckily he woke up at around six this morning. We've pumped his stomach, checked his blood pressure, and had his internal organs examined. His brain functions are normal and there's no permanent damage. He should be able to be discharged in about three days time after he's had an assessment to prove that he's no longer a danger to himself. He'll be prescribed appropriate medication and then he should be on his way.”

Yakov nodded coarsely as Yuri shifted from foot to foot nervously. Mila had finally stopped crying, her sniffles quiet as she wiped the last of her tears from her eyes. Georgi was smiling again. It hardly passed as one, but it was still a smile nonetheless.

“Can we see him now?” Mila asked.

“Of course. Just be gentle and speak softly, okay?” the nurse added, nodding at her.

“Where is he?” Georgi wondered.

“He’s in room 165 on the second floor. He's in the suicide watch unit, so be on your best behavior, alright?”

The nurse motioned for them to follow her. The four of them had visitors passes stuck to their shirts and jackets, all wearing nervous expressions as they made their way through the hospital’s sterile hallways and stairwells, following the nurse ahead of them. When they finally reached Viktor's room, the nurse turned to them and smiled.

“He's very lucky to be alive. It's a real miracle. A chance one in a million. And I'm very glad he is. He has so many people who love him, it would've been hard to see another person leave everything behind again. But I'm glad that didn't happen,” the nurse began, smiling fondly at the four strangers before her, “Cherish him, because you could lose the people you love at any time, okay?”

And with that, the nurse left them alone as she made her way back down the hall. Yuri huffed before turning and looking in through the small rectangular window in the door. He would've normally said something back about how he didn't care, but he decided to keep it to himself when he saw Viktor laying back on the bed in clean white sheets, deep in a peaceful sleep. Yuri opened the door, ignoring Yakov’s order to wait, and went inside anyway. Viktor was fast asleep, his eyes shut gently, his hair mussed from tossing and turning probably.

Yuri sat down in the chair beside Viktor’s bed and looked down at him in thought, alone, as Yakov gave the other two skaters a pep talk. Probably on what they should and shouldn't say to Viktor when they come in. Yuri leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and leant his chin in his hands as he looked down at Viktor, undisturbed.

“I was really worried about you,” Yuri began in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. “I thought you were going to die. It's pretty funny because, I suddenly had to think about what skating would be like without you. What ... everything would be like without you. And I realized that skating would have no point to me anymore. Skating is nothing without you.”

Yuri said the words quickly, uncomfortable even speaking his feelings to someone who wasn't awake to hear them. Why is he even doing this? This was stupid and pointless, but Yuri continued anyways. “I ... I've always wanted to tell you that, I wish you payed more attention to me. And that, I wish you'd remember your promise.”

Viktor’s eyes suddenly fluttered open, his aqua blue eyes staring at him with a sparkle that Yuri hadn't seen in a long, long time.

“What did you just say, Yuri? It sounded nice,” Viktor wondered softly as he smiled up at him.

“I said you're a fucking idiot!” Yuri shouted, promptly kicking the side of his bed, his face red in embarrassment.

Viktor laughed at his childish outburst as Yuri glared at him.

“I really missed you. It feels like I haven't seen you in days,” Viktor said.

Yuri frowned sadly, averting his gaze suddenly.

“That's because it has been days, you idiot,” Yuri grumbled softly.

“What do you mean it's been days?” Viktor asked, his joyful expression vanishing instantly.

It was then that Mila, Georgi, and Yakov finally walked in, all with soft, relieved smiles on their faces. Viktor sat up in bed, his arms trembling weakly as he struggled to push himself up, his eyes widening when he noticed them. Viktor then shifted his gaze to the floor, his fear and confusion quickly replaced with ... guilt? Yuri didn't understand why. Shouldn't he be happy to see them again? Shouldn't he be happy to be alive?

“I'm sorry,” Viktor whispered as if in pain. “I don't know how to explain myself.”

The room was silent for a moment. Yakov simply sighed.

“You don't have to explain anything to us, Vitya,” Yakov said simply.

Viktor lifted his head to gaze at all of them with a look of appreciation.

“We're just glad you're alive,” Mila said happily. “I think everyone is.”

Viktor nodded slowly. Yakov looked like he suddenly remembered something as he reached inside his pocket and took out his phone.

“Chris wanted to speak with you as soon as you woke up. Here,” Yakov told him as he tapped the dial on his phone and turned on speaker.

Yakov’s phone rang a few times, before Viktor's friend finally answered.

“ _Hello_?” Chris spoke.

“Hi, Chris, it's me,” Yakov responded.

“ _Oh hi, Yakov. Is Viktor awake_?”

“Yes. You can speak to him now, if you want. You're on speaker,” Yakov replied.

“ _Viktor_? _You there_?”

“Yeah ...” Viktor answered.

“ _How are you doing_?” Chris asked.

“A lot better.”

“ _Okay, good_ ,” Chris commented. “ _But seriously, what the hell got into you, Viktor_? _I was so worried about you_.”

Viktor cringed at Chris’s comment. He didn't want to deal with these kinds of questions at the moment. Viktor knew his Twitter and Instagram were probably worse, but he couldn't avoid this forever.

“I'm so sorry,” Viktor mumbled softly, feeling like everyone in the room was staring at him accusingly, hating the feeling, “I didn't mean for it to happen like this.”

“ _Viktor, you tried to kill yourself!_ ” Chris began loudly. “ _You nearly died! Do you know what you did to Yakov_? _To your fans_? _To me_?”

Chris breathed out a frustrated sigh from the other end of the line. “ _Viktor, you may be at the top of the figure skating world, but you don't ever think before you make spontaneous decisions like this, do you_? _Do you know what would've happened if you actually died_?”

Viktor shook his head, immediately remembering Chris couldn't see him.

“... No,” Viktor replied hesitantly, listening to Chris sigh again, much more controlled this time.

“ _Why didn't you ever tell anyone_?”

Viktor flinched at the question.

“I —” Viktor didn't know. “... I thought I could handle it on my own.”

“ _I’m not mad at you, Viktor. I just wish you would have told me earlier_ ,” Chris said quietly.

Viktor felt guilty. So guilty, it ached in his chest and burned in his throat.

“I'm sorry,” Viktor apologized again.

Viktor wasn't really one to apologize, but now it felt more than necessary.

“ _It's okay. At least you're still alive. Just, next time you're going to make a decision like that, please tell someone about it, okay_?” Chris said gently.

“I will. I promise.”

Yuri curled up in his seat tightly when he heard the promise and felt like he might throw up. Viktor always forgot his promises.

“ _Okay. I'll talk to you later, Viktor. Goodbye_.”

“Bye.”

And then the call was over and the room was back to its usual silence. Yakov put his phone back in his pocket as Yuri uncoiled from the chair like a python unraveling itself from the branch of a tree. 

“What happened while I was gone?” Viktor wondered, watching Yakov face palm as Georgi and Mila frowned at the exact same time, “What?”

“Nothing's been happening, you moron. Everyone's been waiting for you to wake up. You were out for three fucking days now,” Yuri said indifferently as he glared at him.

Viktor's eyes widened.

“Three — three days?” Viktor gasped in shock. Yuri looked at him with a confused expression.

“They ... didn't tell you?” Mila asked.

Viktor shook his head.

“They told me where I was, what they did, and then performed some tests on me while I was awake,” Viktor recollected.

“Did they tell you anything else?” Mila asked.

Viktor was silent for a moment as he thought.

“They told me when I could be discharged and that before I can, I would have to meet with the Chief of Psychiatry for an assessment, to prove I'm not a danger to myself anymore,” Viktor replied.

Mila looked at him with sympathy.

“What do you remember? From before, I mean,” Mila asked.

Viktor drew his eyebrows together in thought.

“I remember petting Makkachin ... on the couch. And I remember ... swallowing those pills. The room kept spinning around me and my heart was beating so slowly in my chest, I thought it might stop at any moment. I remember feeling cold. Painfully cold. And then ...”

— _I woke up in a field of barley_.

He remembered it now. The field, the cabin, the old woman, the task. Viktor looked back up at the four of them, seeing them waiting expectantly for him to continue. Could he tell them? Viktor took a deep breath.

“... I woke up in a field of barley.”

Mila, Georgi, and Yakov stared, confused, but Yuri ceased glaring at him, his face softening into curiosity. 

“I was so happy at first. I was free. But then, it got worse. There was a forest so dark, I felt like I couldn't breathe. There was a cabin in the woods and an old woman was out on her porch. I think she was death. She took me inside with her. I blew out a candle at the end, and then I woke up here with nurses and doctors surrounding me,” Viktor finished, “Weird dream, huh?”

Mila tapped her foot in contemplation.

“Maybe it wasn't a dream? Maybe it really happened?” Mila thought aloud.

Yuri rolled his eyes.

“Bullshit. As if. It was just a stupid dream,” Yuri dismissed, waving his hand as if willing the conversation to end.

“Yeah. I guess it was,” Viktor whispered, almost relieved.

“Hey, Viktor, once you’re better, we can meet back at the rink for practice again and everything can just go back to the way it was before, right?” Mila wondered, hopeful.

Viktor forced a smile on his lips to put her at ease. Back before everything? Wasn't that what drove Viktor to the very edge? The same sort of thing every day? Viktor couldn't bear going back to that life.

“Sure,” Viktor told her, his hands trembling, unnoticed, just under the white sheets.

Mila then grew quiet and looked Viktor over with a hesitant expression.  
  
“Viktor, I know I shouldn’t say it, but, I’m going to anyways.” Mila's smile returned to her face in a flourish. “You’re _so_ lucky, it’s crazy! You, doing what you did, and him, walking in and finding you — that was a serious miracle!” Mila gushed happily. “The nurses talked about it with us on the way down the hall to your room. You know, you really —”

“Mila, wait. Who found me?” Viktor asked, completely lost, as everyone else in the room seemed to already know what she was talking about.

All of them looked back at him in confusion. Yuri sat up in his chair.

“It was your cousin, dipshit,” Yuri said, as if it was obvious. “Didn't they tell you when you woke up?” Viktor grew pale, his eyes widening suddenly. Everyone looked at him with concern. “Viktor? Are you alright?” Yuri wondered.

Viktor looked over to him and gulped down the air nervously.

“I don't have a cousin.”

The room was silent. So silent it lingered and seeped into every crack in the floor and through every vent in the ceiling. Yuri gripped at the armrests of the seat in a death hold as his mind ran through all the possible explanations.

“So ... whoever he is ... he lied?” Mila suggested.

Viktor shook his head.

“Why would he though? It doesn't make any sense,” Viktor wondered aloud.

Yuri felt sick. Sick and confused.

“I think an even better question is, ‘What was he doing in your apartment and how did he even get in?’” Georgi said.

Mila raised an eyebrow as she lifted her eyes to meet Viktor's.

“Don't you always leave the door locked though? Did he pick the lock?” Mila thought aloud.

Viktor shook his head.

“No. Not that day. I ... left the door unlocked,” he answered.

Mila looked puzzled.

“Why?”

Viktor averted her gaze.

“That morning you were going to come over to walk to practice with me. I ... left it unlocked for you because ... I counted on you finding me first,” Viktor said cautiously, guilt heavy in his chest. It took a moment for Mila to even process his statement, but when she did, it hit her in the chest like a heavy stone. It scared her how just a few words could knock the air from her lungs like a punch to the stomach, but that was exactly what Viktor did to her. The tears fell from her eyes before Viktor could say anything to change it.

And Mila had her head in her hands, sobbing quietly as she tried to pull herself together. “I'm sorry, Mila. I wasn't thinking properly. I'd never want you to find out like that,” Viktor added, but it didn't make much of a difference. Mila was crying again.

Georgi walked over to her side and hugged her comfortingly. Viktor felt like the scum of the earth, but that was what he got for trying to shift this kind of responsibly onto the people who cared about him. Georgi pulled Mila out of the room with him until it was just Yakov, Yuri, and him. Yakov face-palmed again, maybe from shame as Viktor looked over with a nervous expression.

“Vitya, you won't try to do this again, will you? You should know by now that you can tell us if you're in trouble,” Yakov stated gently, as gentle as Yakov could.

His stern expression was still present on his brow, but his words, soft. And Yakov found it odd and slightly sad that he was addressing Viktor more and more as if he were a small child. The words, ‘ _I don't know if I can_ ,’ were all Viktor could think, but he nodded regardless.

“I'll be okay,” he replied in nothing more than a whisper, Yakov nodding in relief.

 _Liar_.

“Good.” Yakov said, turning to Yuri, who looked uncomfortable, “Yura, let's go.”

Yuri nodded, his eyes still trained on Viktor, before breaking away as he stood to follow Yakov.

“I'll see you back at the rink?” Yuri wondered.

“See you back at the rink,” Viktor repeated with a nod and a smile, as both Yakov and Yuri left the room, closing the door behind them.

* * *

Viktor sat up in his bed and leaned again the white wall behind him, staring out of the window to his right. He got to know the sight well after looking through that window for the past few days. It was bright out, white light streaming in, unwelcome. There was a small, grassy field from where Viktor could see, gazing down from a floor above. Viktor also noticed a few small trees and a metal fountain flowing with murky water.

It made him wish he was home. He was missing practice, but he supposed that maybe he should think about something other than skating every once in awhile. Viktor turned to look away from the window when he heard the door click open. A nurse with golden brown eyes, brown curls, and dark skin walked in and turned to look at Viktor with a smile.

“Mr. Nikiforov, how are you?” she asked him.

Viktor forced himself to smile back at her.

“Good.”

The nurse’s expression suddenly changed, her eyes sad and nervous.

“Um ... Mr. Nikiforov, I came in because I thought I should warn you about something,” she began shyly. “There’s this ... doctor here. Dr. Slavsky. He’s the chief of psychiatry. You won’t be able to leave until he’s talked to you. And he —” She paused for a moment. “... he’s really good at getting into your head. He’ll ask you a lot of questions, but he’s a really great guy! I really love him.”

She moved on quickly. “Anyway ... He visits this ward quite often, usually in the evening or early in the morning. I personally have really taken a liking to him, but you hear all sorts of stories in a place like this,” she explained. “All I know is that he’s very friendly and flirtatious. Most doctors won’t even say, ‘Hello,’ to you. He occasionally stops and asks me how I am. He can see that I’m not happy here.”

“What do others say about him?” Viktor asked curiously.

The nurse lifted her chin amusedly as she pondered her answer.

“Oh, they say he’s just a big flirt. Nurses, doctors, cleaners, patients; they’re all the same to him. All the other nurses always tell me, ‘He’s no good for you! You're falling for him! He's going to leave you!’” she answered. “Well, I can’t say anything bad about him personally, but — and don’t laugh, okay? — I think ... he’s got a weird smell,” she continued.

Viktor raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

The nurse just sighed.

“Uh, it’s just ... he smells funny? I don’t know. Maybe it’s the shampoo he uses, or maybe it's something he eats ...?”

“Okay ... Thanks for the warning,” Viktor said, his expression whimsical and slightly confused.

The nurse then lifted her head again and snapped her fingers.

“You know, now that I think about it, there is something else too,” she brought up suddenly. “When he starts talking to you, you just open up and you tell him everything! It’s very odd ... I know I’m not really a very private person, but he got some personal stuff out of me. _Really_ personal, you know. Things I wouldn’t even tell my own mother about."

The nurse's eyes lit up with wonder. "And I haven’t even started those counseling sessions with him! So, Mr. Nikiforov, just be prepared for that,” the nurse warned. “Also, just so you know, I'm here for you if you ever need someone. I don't want you to do ... that ... again, okay?”

Viktor frowned.

"What about you? How do I know you’ll have someone there for you?” Viktor asked.

She smiled.

"You don’t.”

Viktor was silent, staring into the nurse’s hazel eyes. She hummed a happy tune as she turned to leave. She stopped and turned back, showing off a bright grin. “But, you know, Viktor ... When the dreams turn into nightmares, it’s always good to have someone there to pinch your arm and wake you up,” she spoke happily, before turning back and opening the heavy door, leaving Viktor in the room alone.

* * *

Dr. Slavsky’s office was warm. Strange and inviting, even in the darkness occupying the hospital’s halls. Viktor was meeting him in his office late in the night for his assessment. If he passed it, he would be discharged to go home. It was ideal that he did.

However, when he entered the office, his intrusive thoughts instantly died away. There was this sense of comfort; of familiarity to the wide, open room. It was bathed in a golden light radiating from the two lamps lit at each side of the desk, the dim, calming color cloaking the room with its comfort. The room was so unlike the rest of the hospital.

It was like stepping into a home furnishings decor magazine, the ones his mother used to read. The room had polished hardwood, dark floors and beige wallpaper. All the furniture — small chairs, a coffee table, several lamps, a desk at the forefront of the room, a few comfortable leather seats — had the same color scheme and design as the floors and surrounding wallpaper. There were paintings along the walls on every side, all easily recognizable, even to the average art novice; Starry Night, The Girl With The Pearl Earring, Mona Lisa ...

Easily all the most famous paintings in the world. All in this one room with Viktor, staring at him, looking down on him. And there, at the very front of the room, sitting behind his desk, was Dr. Slavsky, leaning forward against it, a faint smile on his lips. Dr. Slavsky, at first glance, could be mistaken for an old man in the light, if not for his young face. His hair was snow white, cut short and sticking up in small curls.

He had the start of a beard growing along his chin and upper lip. He wore large, navy green, over-sized glasses, which rested on the bridge of his nose comfortably and made his eyes look much larger than they really were. His eyes were a deep brown, like a yawning void, which looked Viktor through and through. The man made a motion for Viktor to sit in the leather chair in front of his desk.

Viktor closed the door noiselessly behind him and made his way over. He sat down in the chair slowly, hesitantly, despite being allowed to do so.

“If you're worried about anyone overhearing our conversation in the next room, then you have nothing to fear. This room’s completely sound proof. Our conversation stays in this room and isn't going anywhere else. I promise,” Dr. Slavsky said, smiling.

His voice was deep and slightly hoarse, but Viktor found the it to be strangely comforting. In the way that your grandmother’s sounded when she'd read you a story before bed. It was crooked and brittle but there was a safety to it and a security that Viktor couldn't name or even attempt to label. Then, a smell quite unlike anything Viktor had ever smelt before washed over him in a wave.

It was foul and sour and it was coming from Dr. Slavsky, but Viktor couldn't attempt to describe it. What was that smell? A smell of rot. Of compost. Of fresh earth and oil paint.

No, not quite. Viktor didn't know it, and it was driving him crazy. In a haze of muted frustration, Viktor attempted small talk, which he hated in any setting or situation.

“Do you like art?” he asked the man who was supposed to be asking him questions.

“Yes, I do enjoy fine art. Thank you for noticing,” Dr. Slavsky answered, nodding politely. “There's a certain ... raw beauty to it that modern painters often fail to recreate. I’d like to think that I'm an artist myself, but it'll be a long time before I can call myself that.”

He leaned back in his chair and stared down at Viktor with a kind smile. “I often say, ‘patients are my canvas.’ I take the damaged minds and bring them back to their former beauty.” Dr. Slavsky’s lips pressed into a thin line as he observed the man in front of him from behind his desk. Viktor felt like an insect, pinned into a board by his wings to be displayed for scientific research. “I'm sorry. I'm probably boring you,” Dr. Slavsky commented.

Viktor shook his head quickly.

“No, it's not that, it's just ..." Viktor paused. “It's been a difficult couple of days. I just want to go home and see my dog.”

Dr. Slavsky nodded in understanding.

“Of course. As soon as we've done this little assessment, you can go. We have to see what's wrong and how to help you. This is just a formality, and as you know, there's always paperwork involved,” he chuckled. "These forms won't fill themselves. Honestly, Viktor, you have nothing to worry about. I could tell straightaway that you aren't a danger to yourself any longer. This will only take a little while.”

Viktor sighed.

"Alright. What do you want to know? I'll answer all your questions and then go home,” Viktor said, waiting for the uncomfortable questions to resurface. The conversation he'd been avoiding for the past few days.

“Wonderful!” Dr. Slavsky exclaimed. “Now, let's see then ..."

He picked up a small packet of forms from the desk and a pen, scanning through the pages with a careful eye. He tapped the paper once, before looking up at Viktor again. “Now, I'd like to ask you some questions about your life, Viktor,” he started again. “You might find them very personal, but it's important that you answer them as _honestly as possible_.”

Viktor nodded as Dr. Slavsky looked down at the paper again.

“Are you living alone at the moment?” the doctor asked him.

“I live in an apartment with my dog. It's really lonely sometimes,” Viktor answered, nodding.

Dr. Slavsky scribbled down something on the paper and looked back up at Viktor again.

“What do you do for a living? I'm sure I can guess, but I want to hear how you describe it.”

Viktor hesitated.

“I'm ... a professional figure skater. I've been doing it all my life. But recently, it's become ... something else. I used to love it more than anything else, but now it feels like it's suffocating me. I want to love it again, but I just feel so weak and ... powerless and ... just ... tired. I just feel so tired all the time,” Viktor explained as he stared down at his feet.

Viktor had long since changed out of the hospital gown he was put in since he got there. He was wearing the clothes he had on the night he came there. It felt like everything was reminding him of it; taunting him.

“Typical depression symptoms it seems,” Dr. Slavsky remarked. “We can give you medication for that. You'll feel stronger, more motivated.”

“I hope so,” Viktor replied softly.

“Describe to me what your typical mornings are like. What is the first thing you do everyday?” Dr. Slavsky continued.

Viktor was silent for a moment.

“I lie in bed, awake. I sometimes can't bring myself to open my eyes. But I force myself to get up. I pet my dog, and get ready to go to practice. I order breakfast most of the time. I don't really know how to cook,” Viktor said, his eyes nervously glancing back up to find Dr. Slavsky’s gaze blank and non-judgmental.

Dr. Slavsky glanced down again, moving on.

“Would you say you feel safer at home than outside?”

Viktor shook his head.

“No. I ... love the outside. I feel safer anywhere there's people,” Viktor said with a small smile.

 _I feel safer anywhere I'm not alone_. Dr. Slavsky nodded.

“Interesting.” He placed the underside of the pen against his bottom lip in thought. “What do you think it missing in your life? Or more, what do you think is one thing that would make your life better?”

Viktor knew the answer immediately.

“A sense of purpose. Something that makes me excited again, to bring back my love of skating. Something that I can live for,” he answered without skipping a beat.

Dr. Slavsky smiled.

“I think you can find this by opening up a bit more. Try new things. Meet new people,” Dr. Slavsky suggested.

Viktor forced a smile.

"I've tried that once, but if you think that'll help, I'm willing to try again.”

“Good,” Dr. Slavsky returned. “Do you have any problems sleeping?”

Viktor nodded.

“Sometimes. I took pills for that.” Viktor paused. “There aren't any left now, though.”

Dr. Slavsky frowned, probably finding his morbid reflection disturbing, Viktor figured.

"Oh ... In light of recent events, I suggest you stay off those pills for the time being,” he advised. “Please describe for me how you feel at the moment.”

Viktor shrugged.

“There's not much to say. Definitely better than before ... everything ..."

Dr. Slavsky nodded.

"That's good. I think you might be able to enjoy life again. Suicide attempts often have that sort of effect on people. It makes you realize that you don't want to die yet,” Dr. Slavsky told him as he looked off at the painting on Viktor’s left, lost in thought. He looked back down at his paper before he turned to face Viktor again. “Do you find it hard to concentrate at all?”

Viktor nodded.

“Yeah. Sometimes.”

“Do you drink alcohol, Viktor?” Dr. Slavsky asked.

Viktor shrugged.

“Yeah. Some wine on occasion. Never enough to actually get drunk though.”

“I suggest you don't consume any alcohol while you're recovering, okay?” Dr. Slavsky suggested.

“Okay,” Viktor agreed.

“Sometimes, when people get sad or feel trapped, they think about suicide. Do you often think about suicide?” he asked.

Viktor shook his head quickly.

“No. Of course not. I don't know what got into me? It's hard to explain why I did it. I guess I thought I had nothing left to live for,” Viktor elaborated with wide eyes. “It just sort of ... happened. Like I suddenly lost control. I knew what I was doing, but I felt like I couldn't stop it. Strange, huh?”

Dr. Slavsky frowned, quickly writing.

“Please, in your own words, try to explain to me why you really tried to take your own life, Viktor,” Dr. Slavsky requested.

"Nothing was making me happy anymore,” Viktor told him. “I just ... I felt so empty and cold all the time. It slowly felt like everything I was doing was ultimately pointless and then I just ... gave up ..."

“Do you think of yourself as a burden?” Dr. Slavsky asked.

Viktor shook his head.

“No. Never. I’ve always felt like I was alone, but I never felt like I was keeping anyone down. In fact, I know I'm not,” Viktor replied confidently.

“What makes you feel happier?” Dr. Slavsky wondered.

"My dog, Makkachin. Some happy memories. Delicious food. Oh, and a long bath and a good book!” Viktor supplied, feeling lighter and warmer at just the thought of them.

Dr. Slavsky smiled at his sudden happiness, finding it refreshing.

“What makes you unhappy?”

Viktor frowned.

“Most things. Missing a jump at practice, being alone ...” Viktor supplied.

"Have you imagined your funeral, and how people would react to your death?” Dr. Slavsky asked.

Viktor shook his head.

“No. I never really thought about it ... I can't even imagine what everyone would've done if I had actually died,” Viktor said softly, guilt sewn into his tone with an invasive needle and thread.

Dr. Slavsky tapped the pen in his hand against the paper with a note of finality.

“Lastly, I'd like you to tell me about your family,” he began.

Viktor's eyes widened.

“My ... family?”

“Yes, I would like you to describe them. What happened to them?” Dr. Slavsky prodded indifferently.

Viktor gripped the seat with sweaty palms as he shook his head.

“Can we please talk about something else? I really don't want to talk about them,” Viktor said quickly, trying to dodge the question. “Please. I just want to go home.”

Dr. Slavsky tapped the pen again before waving his hand dismissively.

“Hmm ... Fine. I suppose you've opened up enough for one day,” he said finally, letting the question go.

Viktor looked at him with a sense of relief.

“Thank you.”

Dr. Slavsky nodded at the thanks.

"You're welcome. You must want to get home now, I assume. There are two final questions before you leave. This is just a formality, but I'm required to ask. Are you going to do it again?” Dr. Slavsky asked sternly.

Viktor thought seriously for a moment.

"I think that I ... Hey, wait! No, I understand now. The answer is, ‘No,’ thank you very much,” Viktor answered, crossing his arms and smiling genuinely as Dr. Slavsky grinned back at him.

“Excellent! We're nearly done here,” Dr. Slavsky said cheerfully. “There's just one last question I have for you now.” The doctor was silent for a moment, as if in thought. “Did you have any dreams or visions when you went into comatose? These sort of things can happen from time to time. They can infer things about your life,” he said.

Viktor nodded without hesitation. The doctor looked at him curiously.

“Yeah. I did. But only one,” Viktor said honestly. “I woke up in a field of barley and then I went through the woods. There was a cabin in the distance and an old woman. She called herself, ‘Pneumonia.’ I think she was death. She told me she'd bring me back if I help her with a certain task. And then I blew out a candle on one of her shelves, and I woke up here, in the hospital,” Viktor recalled.

Dr. Slavsky pursed his lips in thought again.

“And you're absolutely certain that this was what happened?” he asked.

“Yes,” Viktor answered. “I just wish I knew what it meant.”

“Viktor, I interpret dreams well, and that one certainly doesn't have any meaning I know. You must be mistaken,” Dr. Slavsky said.

Viktor glared halfheartedly at him.

“I know what I saw,” Viktor said tensely, before he let his shoulders drop. He forced himself to relax and let it go. Viktor sighed before grabbing his discharge letter from Dr. Slavsky’s desk. “If we're done here, I'll be going home now,” he said.

He could feel Dr. Slavsky’s eyes on his back as he turned to leave and made his way to the door. Viktor couldn't wait to get back, couldn't wait to see Makkachin and everyone again. It was what he was originally trying to throw away along with his life, but now he felt like he missed it somehow.

Viktor had his hand around the doorknob, but when he twisted it, the knob wouldn't turn. Viktor's eyes widened. He tried it a few more times, and even pushed against the door too. Nothing happened. _The door wouldn't open_.

“It's ... locked?” Viktor wondered aloud.

He felt his heart stop dead in his chest when he heard Dr. Slavsky push his chair back. Viktor turned to see Dr. Slavsky making his way over to him with a slow stride; taking his time. He stopped, a few steps away from Viktor, a slow smile creeping onto his lips.

“I plan ahead, Viktor. I had a feeling in my gut, and my gut’s _never_ wrong,” the doctor spoke slowly, his voice sounding empty. Viktor felt cold spreading from his stomach to all the rest of his body. All warmth and comfort was drained from Dr. Slavsky’s voice as he spoke, and so did that same comfort vanish from Viktor’s body in return. “I feel like I really got to know you though,” the doctor continued. “It's a shame you've had such a difficult life.”

The man took a step closer to Viktor and cocked his head to the side in intrigue. “I like your beautiful blue eyes and pale skin. It's so red, here and here,” the doctor complimented dryly, motioning to Viktor's nose and his ears. Viktor covered his nose quickly as the doctor laughed humorlessly. “You're so clever, Viktor. But the sadness has poisoned you for too long. There's no coming back from it.”

He took another step. Viktor tried to take a step away, his back hitting the door. Viktor couldn't breathe in, completely paralyzed. “For what it's worth, I would've let you go, if you hadn't told me about that dream. So you are who she's chosen? A depressed figure skater? _Pathetic_.”

This wasn't real. Viktor didn't want to believe it. He was shaking, he knew he was. But as the doctor lunged at him, he suddenly noticed the blade the man held tightly in a closed fist. 

It only took two second.

Two seconds before Viktor felt the blade sink into his gut, all the way down to the hilt. It sunk into him as easily as a spoon sinks into a cube of jello. It tore open his stomach and punctured his small intestine, just missing his liver. It was only after the initial shock faded, that Viktor felt the pain. Beautiful, agonizing pain.

It blossomed in his chest, set fire to his lungs, and opened into a flower of crimson red. It soaked bone deep into his ankles, his knees, his cheeks, his ears, his fingertips. The red flower spilled over like a climax in his spine and out through the wound. It poured like red rain, down to the floor and over the doctor’s hands; the ones driving the knife in. Viktor gasped and tried to breathe, but nothing happened.

It was like all functions in his body had ceased to only remind him of the intrusion in his skin. Reminding him of the incredible pain and the liquid like water but warm like life itself, pouring down and out of him like a fountain. The blade was ripped from his skin suddenly as the doctor he opened up to stood back to watch the display of death itself, gripping into Viktor’s skin like razors. Then, as if time had sped up, the doctor was stabbing him again. Rage and fire and adrenaline were pumping through this parasite’s system like a drug.

And that man stabbed him, over and over and over again, until Viktor himself, lost count. And Viktor toppled to the floor. He fell into a pool of his own blood, curled and crumpled on the floor; butchered like an animal. Viktor didn't have the strength to move, to breathe, to think, to even close his eyes. And it was there, on that hardwood floor in a pool of his own blood, that Viktor died again.

* * *

Viktor opened his eyes to find himself in a place so familiar, he was startled when he looked around. It wasn't like a dream, however. Viktor felt awake, confused, and very much alive. He was startled to find himself back in the cabin in the woods, standing upright before a shelve of candles, as if he'd always been there. Viktor shook his head to as he ran a hand through his hair in shock and frustration.

"How ...? But ... I died,” Viktor wondered aloud in disbelief. “So ... It was real. All of this is real?” Viktor felt like crying, if he were able.

He died? He really died. He was murdered in cold blood by the chief of psychiatry. Why did this have to happen to him?

If Viktor was calmer, he may have been able to register the irony of not dying when he wanted to, and in turn, being killed when he actually wanted to live. And since this wasn't a dream after all, then he _really was_ going to face five people. And that meant he really was immortal and Pneumonia was real too. That also means he told off death herself.

Oh god, why did he have to do that? Viktor's head was spinning. What was he supposed to do now? He placed his hands on the rickety old shelving between two candles, their heat his only comfort in the moment. Viktor stared down at the flicker of the flame as he thought.

He was dead, and that man, Dr. Slavsky was still with his body. Or maybe he would just dispose of him somewhere? Would he chop Viktor up into little pieces and throw him in the hospital's disposal? Was he already doing that? What if he went back and Dr. Slavsky killed him again?

Would he just keep coming back? Viktor then realized just how dangerous it would be if those people, those parasites, found out he was immortal. Viktor's only insurance was their ignorance, and he needed to be clever about this. To count on himself to be constantly on guard from now on, just like Pneumonia said. Then another fear occurred to Viktor.

What if those parasites hurt the people he cared about? What if they hurt Yuri or Georgi or Mila? They weren't immortal. How was he supposed to protect them? What if they died?

Viktor needed to focus, his thoughts were all over the place. He had to think of what to do. He had to go back. Viktor nodded to himself.

He needed to go back. Now. He had no time to waste. Viktor blew out the candle he had been gazing down on during his epiphany. When he awoke, a dim light greeted him in a room of grey and red.

* * *

Viktor was laying in one of the hospital's body bags. That was the first thing he noticed. It was unzipped halfway and he easily freed his arms from the black fabric cradling him. When Viktor sat up, he felt sticky. His hair was matted and he noticed in the dim, grey light, that he was in a supply closet.

The room was empty of any furniture or supplies other than a few casings of oil paint, formaldehyde, and loops of heavy duty lead wires. Viktor lifted his hands to his face and looked down at himself to see that he was covered in blood. His own, perhaps, but it had dried mostly. It was a disgusting feeling, and Viktor almost wished he hadn't gone back. Then Viktor remembered.

In a sudden, frenzied movement, he lifted his shirt up and saw that there was no wound of any kind. Not a dent in his skin, not even a scar or a trace of a scratch anywhere. There wasn't even a remnant of any pain. Just the memory itself, his torn shirt, and the blood that soiled his hands and remained drying on his clothes and in his silver hair. Viktor stood up, now noticing that the walls had splats and streaks of deep red and black along the grey wallpaper.

Viktor was sure he knew what it was, but as he looked around even longer, he soon came to notice that he wasn't the only person the doctor had stored in that grey supply closet. There were a few others — all woman — naked and sprawled out across the floor, long dead since he had arrived. It was only as Viktor observed longer, that he realized he couldn't move. He tried to move even his fingers, but his body wouldn't comply. He was in such terror and utter shock, completely horrified, that his body refused to move.

It was unlike any other fear he'd ever felt, so unlike any other moment of his life. He was surprised that it took him so long to realize just how scared he was. It was so delayed that Viktor couldn't even rationalize why he was shaking. Prying a hand over his own mouth, Viktor could feel a sob rising and rising from his throat. Or maybe it was a scream?

He pried his fingers so hard over his lips, he was sure it would leave claw marks around them. He couldn't afford to make a sound. He shouldn't even be breathing in this closet. If the doctor was still around, he would be found out immediately. He couldn't give himself away, not until the moment Viktor knew he would be safe.

He shut his eyes tightly, but there were only images flashing through his mind instead of the darkness he desired. The events still had yet to catch up with him. Being stabbed was unlike any pain he'd ever felt in his life. Unlike any injury he'd ever had while skating.

It was unnatural for the human body to process so much pain at once, Viktor rationalized to himself. When he opened his eyes, the sight was still there. The horror was still there. All of those woman this man killed, all void of any life left in them. They were, but the shell of who they once were.

This thought seemed to make Viktor feel a little more controlled. A little more sane. A little more rational. Viktor felt the noise die in his throat as he stared down at Dr. Slavsky’s many victims. Viktor never usually felt angry, had never really felt this rage, this completely trapping feeling of betrayal.

And yet, it was all he could feel. Rage, betrayal, and fear. Viktor struggled to keep it down, submerged in his system like he always did, but it was seeping through his well contained self-control like water through cupped hands. He didn't know where he was, where Dr. Slavsky was, what he was going to do, or even where he was going to go. A step, and then another, as quiet as a mouse, he went along.

Stepping over the bag, his foot landed on a metal pipe. The pipe was a shiny silver, its end dried with blood. Viktor reached down and picked it up, holding it close to his chest. Keeping the weapon by his gut, the black end positioned near the left side of his head, he felt secure. Viktor reached out, grabbing and twisting the doorknob as quietly as possible.

The door swung open easily on squeaky hinges as Viktor stared in shock. It wasn't locked? No, of course it wasn't. He wasn't a prisoner here. Dr. Slavsky thought he was dead.

Viktor smiled at the thought.

“You've just made a huge mistake, Doctor,” Viktor whispered quietly to himself as he stepped out into the hall.

It only took him a second to realize that he wasn't at the hospital. He didn't even think he was anywhere near the hospital. He was standing at the end of a long hallway, and at the opposite end, was a single door. A cool blue light streamed in through the cracks, its light much brighter than the dim yellow out in the hall.

Dr. Slavsky must be in the room at the end. Viktor shut the supply closet door quietly behind him. Pressing his back to it, he figured that he must be somewhere underground. The ground and walls were paved with crude concrete. Above, metal piping ran along the ceiling, protected by metal grates hitched into the walls with large bronze bolts.

He could hear the indistinct hissing of water and plumbing in the walls, eerily accompanied by the screaming of a woman, echoing from behind the closed door at the end of the hall. He could hear the muffled voice of the doctor, shouting things that Viktor couldn't make out. Viktor took a hesitant step forward, holding the pipe in his hands tightly as if he were playing a one-man game of baseball, readying to swing at the first object that moved. As he made his way down, he noticed that along each wall, spaced out in an even row, were paintings. Or at least, that was what Viktor thought they were at first, until he noticed that they weren't really paintings at all.

Each was a remake of a famous piece; The Girl With The Pearl Earring, Mona Lisa, Venus. However, the paintings were all recreated with the bodies of real people. ‘The Living Paintings,’ was the term. However, none of them could exactly be classified as, ‘living,’ at all. The people used in these displays were dead, all of them.

Their wounds were covered up, their rotting bodies, mended to excess with makeup, oil paint, decomposition resistant chemicals, and body tape. Their bodies, positioned with heavy duty lead wires and stands. An interesting exhibit it would be, if it weren't for the smell. A sour smell. A mixture of rot, oil paint, formaldehyde, and rust.

Dr. Slavsky’s smell. A horrific display of creativity; an exhibition for only one, the creator himself. It seemed the doctor considered himself quite the artist. Viktor would've normally froze in fear at the mere sight of them, but with his life at stake, he didn't have the time to feel sick. He also didn't know how to leave.

There wasn't an exit anywhere along the hallway which led him right up to the last and only other door in the room. Viktor tightened his grip around the pipe nervously and pressed his ear up against the door. The screaming was loud and hoarse, coming from the room Viktor stood before. His heart squeezed in his chest when he heard the doctor speak.

"Scream louder! Your pain is like music to my ears, a poetry without words,” he praised. The woman shrieked even louder still. Viktor reached for the doorknob, turning it slowly as the doctor continued speaking. “You're so beautiful, it'd be a shame to waste your features on daily life. You’d look so stunning, encased forever on display for me alone,” the man proclaimed madly.

Viktor got the door open a crack soundlessly. He looked in, the light streaming into the hallway behind him. Dr. Slavsky had his back to him, a knife in hand, a mask pulled tightly over his face, string tied behind his head. The room was void of any furniture, save for a single chair in its center, a terrified woman bound to it. A heavy metal door was shut just behind her, most likely the exit. “Isn't that what you wanted? You love me don't you? It'd be a shame for you to die like this,” the doctor commented, scraping the blade along the skin of her leg.

It was already bleeding badly, her body covered in bruises and cuts. It was then that Viktor suddenly recognized her. It was the nurse who warned him about the doctor originally. What was she doing here? In that moment, their eyes locked as the nurse noticed Viktor peering in from behind the door, her eyes widening in realization.

She looked back at Dr. Slavsky, and then continued crying and screaming, louder than she had been before. Viktor figured she was trying to distract the doctor. “Yes! Scream louder!” the doctor encouraged, as Viktor opened the door the rest of the way and stepped in. He and the nurse both stared at each other.

Viktor smiled at her in an attempt to comfort her and she nodded subtly in his direction. It was only when Viktor was right behind the doctor, that the nurse ceased screaming and fell completely silent. “Are you deaf?! I told you to scream!” the man yelled at her.

"See you in hell,” Viktor whispered.

He swung the pipe at the doctor’s head with a _crack_. The man toppled to the floor, blood staining his white hair red as he bled to death on the cold concrete floor. Viktor panted, gasping as he dropped the pipe to the ground and quickly went to untie the nurse. Once she was freed of her bonds, she stood, her eyes watering as more tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Mr. Nikiforov ... How did you ...?” she didn't finished her sentence as it trailed off despite her.

Viktor hugged her suddenly, uncaring if she were naked and bleeding. The nurse sobbed again and hugged him back, burying her face in his blood stained shirt. “You ... you saved my life ... Thank you. Thank you, thank you,” she whimpered.

Viktor pushed her away suddenly, his eyes hard and determined.

“Run away from here. Call the police, and don't look back,” Viktor ordered.

She nodded and ran to the door, pulling it open with a _bang_. She paused at the first step of the staircase leading out and turned to look back at him.

"What about you?” she asked.

Viktor smiled. Wasn't it obvious?

“I'm going home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Yuuri Katsuki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breaking News: Life and Love finally appears. Stay tuned next for more blood and gore. Yikes.
> 
> Any and all comments are greatly appreciated!

_“Falling in love is always a surprise,_  
_right?”_  
_\- Josh Dallas_

Rain poured down during the night, the endless deluge showing no signs of stopping as it tapped against the roof and the cars parked in the streets. It only seemed to start once Viktor entered the building. He could hear it; angry, pattering against the window.

Viktor stepped up the stairs in the dim white light. It was late and everyone in the apartment complex was bound to be sleeping, but not Viktor. Viktor was wide awake and still trembling in terror. He would be home very soon.

That was all he wanted now. He made his way down the hall as he fished his keys out of his pocket. When he reached the door, he stopped and stared at it. He admired it for a moment; the white paint, the golden numbers on the door.

It was strange. Just a few days ago, he was trying to throw away everything he had. But now, he had a new sense of purpose, a new sense of hope for life somewhere inside, somewhere deep down. Viktor put the key in and turned it. He heard the lock click as he twisted the knob and pushed the door open.

Something large and fluffy came bounding over to him. Who other than Makkachin, Viktor’s beloved dog. The dog barked and jumped up, resting his paws on Viktor’s chest. Viktor’s face lit up in happiness and surprise.

“Oh, Makkachin! I missed you so, so much,” Viktor said, much too loud considering the time of night.

Viktor hugged Makkachin joyfully, the dog’s tail wagging excitedly. The dog was more than happy to see that his master was back. He missed Viktor too, probably more than Viktor missed him. The dog barked loudly, hopping down and running around Viktor in circles.

“ _If you don't shut that damn dog up, I'm calling pest control!”_ the lady upstairs threatened distantly from above, stomping her foot on the floor.

Viktor laughed. The lady above was always making empty threats like that. Besides, who would even want to take Makkachin away from him? Makkachin waddled back into the dark apartment as Viktor followed him inside. It was good to be back, and even better to see his dog again.

Viktor flicked the lights on, blinding himself for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the brightness. He was greeted by the grey expanse of his apartment, which he had always loathed, but now he sort of missed it after all those days at the hospital. As Viktor walked by the kitchen, he noticed a note on the table. He walked over and picked it up with a swift hand, quickly glancing it over. It was from Mila.

_Viktor, I brought Makkachin home for you._

_I also brought you back some food. Heat it up if you want it._

_I'm glad you're okay. See you tomorrow._

_-Mila._

Viktor set down the note with a smile. Makkachin settled back on the couch with a soft woof, as Viktor thought about what to do. He had practice tomorrow. He was also hungry, but Mila had taken that worry off his mind for the moment. He needed to shower and wash his clothes, badly.

He was still covered in gore and it was a pain to make it to his apartment without being seen like this. Once he'd had a shower, Viktor was going straight to bed. That was the plan.

Viktor made his way to the bathroom quietly, stepping inside and turning the light on. He shed his clothes and put them in the laundry basket, reminding himself to wash them the next day. Viktor turned on the shower, attuned it to the proper temperature and then stepped inside, pulling the curtain closed behind him. He let the warm water roll over his back as he looked down at the drain and watched the red grime swirl and sink away down the pipes.

Viktor washed his hair, twice, and reveled at how clean he felt now that the blood was gone from his skin. He stepped out, grabbed a towel and dried himself off slowly. He had nowhere he needed to go, he didn't have to rush anything. He was finally safe. He toweled off his hair and wrapped it around his waist.

He stepped out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, switching on lights as he went. Throwing the towel aside, he pulled on fresh underwear and pajama pants, relishing in the soft warmth against his skin. Viktor would have cried, if he could. The warmth reminded him of the touch of another. Of the afterlife and the freeing feeling that came with it. That warmth. It was like this, but much, much more intense. There, on the other side, it was the most comforting warmth he'd ever felt. Viktor shook his head and ignored the sadness in his chest.

He walked back out of his bedroom, leaving the door open as he made his way into the kitchen again. Heating the food Mila had left for him, Viktor ate in silence at the table. Makkachin was sleeping softly on the couch, his legs kicking occasionally as he slept. Viktor laughed quietly to himself, thinking Makkachin must be dreaming about playing fetch or chasing a squirrel. Even on Viktor's lowest days, Makkachin always found a way to cheer him up. 

Viktor ate quickly and washed his dishes in silence. He put them away and shut the lights off in all the rooms before entering his bedroom to sleep at last. Makkachin bounded after him as he usually did, barking and wagging his tail. Viktor laid down on his bed, not even bothering to get under the covers and laid his head back against the white pillows.

Makkachin jumped up, settled down at his side, and curled up into a fluffy ball, snuggling into him. Viktor scratched Makkachin behind the ears and stroked his back a few times before his arm laid at the dog’s side, motionless. Viktor stared up at the ceiling, silent as the dead. The cold was back, and so was the familiar sadness and emptiness. The loneliness was back too, but not as intensely as it once had been.

It seemed like all the events of that evening had finally caught up to him in the silence, and Viktor felt like crying for the third time that night.

If only he were able.

* * *

Practice went by relatively quickly. Viktor practiced his programs, running through them more than he could count. It was beginning to feel like things were finally going back to normal. That things had finally settled and he would return to his old life.

He figured he would believe this himself, if he could. However, there was still the pressing reality that he had to deal with. The coming nightmare ahead. Those five people he had to face were still out there. He'd dealt with one of them already, but he didn't know when the other four would turn up, or even _if_ they would.

Viktor glided across the ice in lazy circles as he thought hard to himself, his mind racing, occupied by things he considered more important than even his skating. He hadn't found anything that were more important than his skating in a very long time. Although, this was not the ideal way he imagined being occupied by something else, preferring it to be over something much less stressful. Then, as if waking from a dream, Viktor realize he had been glaring down at the ice without noticing.

He forced his body to relax. He would have wrinkles on his brow if he kept doing that; long, thin lines like a boa that would stretch out across his forehead from stress and worry. Viktor liked to believe that things were going back to normal, but in fact, it was probably the complete opposite of that. His Twitter mentions were full of fans claiming he was dead, others called him an attention seeker for trying to end his life, some were just glad he was okay, but most were asking if he needed someone to talk to.

Viktor couldn't go anywhere in real life without getting hounded by the press. Questions like: “Why did you attempt suicide?” and, “Are you unhappy with your skating?” were as frequent online, as well as offline. It was like he couldn't escape from it. His Instagram comments could be considered worse. Strings of heart and crying emojis were the only comments he saw on anything he posted.

Why did they care? Did they know that those comments didn't help him? Viktor let it go. He was glad that there were people out there who did care, if anything. Even if the only way they could show their support was by sending him some crying emojis and a relieved, “I'm so glad you’re alive!!!”

He smiled at the comments whenever he received one. He only wished he had someone real to talk to. It tore at Viktor when he realized that other athletes at the rink had changed upon his return. They were more distant and cold, avoiding his eyes and any of his attempts at conversation. Even Mila and Georgi kept their distance. 

Yuri was the only one who treated him like he did back before all of this, and Viktor was grateful for it. Viktor knew that they were ignoring him as to try not to hurt him and to give him space to heal, but it only made him feel so much more isolated and desolate, tearing an uncross-able ravine between him and everyone else. Viktor felt like screaming every time someone at the rink caught his eye, but turned away silently with a distant, melancholy expression. Viktor almost wondered if he did something wrong.

He wanted to sob until his eyes burned and scream until his voice gave out, to plead for someone to talk to him and assure him that he would be okay and that they forgive him for what he did. But Viktor never would. He never screamed, he never begged, and he never even cried. No matter how much he wanted to.

He was silent, as quiet as the seas that resided far out from the land. It was the most accurate way to describe how he felt. Despite the close proximity to the people at the rink and to the few of his only friends, he felt lost. He felt stranded at sea, so far from land and any marker of civilization that he was content to give up on ever finding solace in human comfort again.

Viktor was beyond what the word, ‘sad,’ could even convey with its simple abstract human expression. It was a sadness so deep, the dark trenches of the oceans envied it. It was so blue; blue and grey and quiet. A silent killer that was never suspected.

A loneliness so bitter, it was akin to isolation in its truest form. Viktor's ears and fingers were numb with the cold. The bitterness of the ice had made his features a bright red. Viktor absentmindedly covered his nose, Dr. Slavsky's words still echoing in his head, haunting him.

Complimenting Viktor's features like normal people did made him paranoid beyond his simple nervousness. It occurred to Viktor very quickly that just about anyone could be a parasite. It could be anyone. Anyone he knew. The people who passed him on the street; the grocer, a fellow skater at the rink, a representative of the press.

Maybe even one of his own friends. Could it be a child? Viktor couldn't hurt a child. He couldn't hurt anyone.

“You okay? You just stopped skating suddenly. You've been standing here for a good three minutes,” Yuri commented as he glided into Viktor's line of sight.

“Oh, hi, Yuri. It's not that, there's just ... a lot on my mind right now,” Viktor replied, forcing a smile.

Yuri scoffed.

“Seems like it.” Yuri stared off into the distance as he thought. Viktor noticed him doing a lot more thinking than usual. Yuri turned back with a worried expression. “Viktor, are you sure you're okay?” Yuri asked as he glared harshly.

Viktor genuinely smiled back at him. Despite how stern or rude Yuri tried to act, Viktor knew that care and worry hid just under that spiteful tone and the mountainous tall wall he defended himself with. It was something Viktor was glad to know. It made him incredibly happy to realize that.

“I'm doing fine,” Viktor answered finally.

Yuri eyed him suspiciously.

“Okay,” he accepted as Viktor took in a deep breath of cold air. Yuri tapped his skate on the ice a few times in thought. “Well, I just wanted to say that ... things will get better so ... be strong, Viktor.” And then Yuri skated away from him in a graceful glide, and left Viktor behind in the center of the rink with a dumbstruck expression on his face.

* * *

Viktor held a book in his hand, an old one he hadn't read in years. It was folded open to a familiar page, but he peered down at it as if he were trying to read it through a screen door. Viktor had returned to his apartment many hours ago, but he found himself unable to concentrate on any simple task he put himself to. He sat on his grey couch, struggling to concentrate on reading beside Makkachin, who was snoozing in an early evening nap.

Viktor was still turning over the words Yuri said to him in his mind. He'd been thinking about them all practice and ever since. Viktor didn't understand them. ‘ _Things will get better, so be strong._ ’ Will they really?

Viktor didn't ever want to sink back into his old self-destructive cycles. He was so tired of being fake and pretending to smile. So bored of the same old thing. So exhausted, trying to surprise everyone all the time. He wondered if success was really as fated as it seemed.

Was what he achieved really so great? If all his life would lead him to feel like this, then what was the point of living through everything he had. What was the point of living at all? Cutting through Viktor’s thoughts, there came a knocking. A soft rapping of knuckles against the wood of his door.

It sounded hesitant and soft, like a question. Then there came a hesitant voice.

A small, timid, “ _Is anyone home_?” in English.

The voice was so familiar to Viktor. It felt like an old memory, a dream. It was like watching an old movie Viktor hadn't seen in years, feeling the fond memories wash over him again as if it were the first time. It was strangely nostalgic. The knocking continued, but Viktor found it hard to move.

He was frozen, the soft question repeating in his mind. The familiar voice. Viktor suddenly realized the person was still knocking, but he still hadn't moved to answer it. In a frenzied, albeit, clumsy movement, Viktor was up and off the couch. The unimportant book was quickly shut and thrown onto his shelf without care, all because of that voice.

It was a voice he knew so well, from videos, from bright, happy memories. Memories that kept him going long after he felt like giving up. That voice. Viktor stumbled in front of the door, quickly turning the knob and throwing the door open. Standing there, in his doorway, was not exactly what Viktor was expecting.

It was that young Japanese man. The man with that messy mop of black hair, beautiful brown eyes, and those big, oversized blue glasses. He wore a baggy light brown coat, his white face mask pulled down to reveal the curve of his pink lips quivering in anxiousness. It was exactly what Viktor was hoping for, but at the same time, it wasn't. Viktor knew that voice.

The voice that was drunk and sweet and begged for him to be his coach. That mysterious skater who’d swept him off his feet that night at the banquet. It was him.

 _It's you_.

“It's you,” Viktor muttered softly, not realizing he'd spoke the words out loud until it was too late.

The man’s eyes widened, but he shook his head, dismissing Viktor’s comment. Viktor noticed the man was shaking slightly. Why was that? The man suddenly spoke up, his voice soft, hesitant, shy. He was so unlike the man he fell in love with at the banquet, but, this was him.

“Um ... Hi, Viktor Nikiforov. I know you probably don't remember me, but I’m Yuuri Katsuki ... I skated against you in the Grand Prix Final,” he said.

Viktor drew his brows together in thought. Did he? Viktor didn't really pay much attention to the competition. It was practically just the same routine year after year. But if he was, then why didn't he see Yuuri anywhere after that?

What happened to him? Viktor was still astonished to see Yuuri here, of all places.

“What are you doing here?” Viktor asked, watching Yuuri's conflicted look as he thought of his answer.

“It's a long story ..." he finally said. “I actually met you a few days ago. Though I wouldn't exactly describe it as, ‘met,’ because you weren't even, um ... awake at the time,” Yuuri explained. Viktor stared at him, confused. “You don't remember me, I'm sure. You took too many of those sleeping pills ... I think. The bottle was right next to your couch ...” Yuuri mumbled shyly.

Viktor’s eyes widened in sudden realization.

“You ... you were the one who —”

“Ruined everything?” Yuuri finished the sentence for him, frowning sadly, as he gazed up into Viktor's blue eyes as if waiting to be yelled at. Yuuri paused, shifting his gaze to the floor. “I understand if you're angry at me.” Yuuri looked back up at him again, hopeful. “It ... wouldn't surprise me if you hated me for calling the ambulance and saving your life, but I had my own reasons too ..."

"No, no. I don't hate you. I'm just ... surprised,” Viktor quickly cut in.

A blush enflamed on Yuuri’s cheeks, as if simply speaking to Viktor was going to set him on fire. If Viktor weren't so shocked, he would've called it cute. Viktor thought everything about Yuuri was cute.

“There’s more though. The reasons I have are important. That's why ... I came here that night. I needed to talk to you,” Yuuri explained quickly.

Viktor didn't understand.

“Why do you want to talk to me? And how did you even find out where I lived?” Viktor asked, blatantly concerned about his privacy.

Yuuri fidgeted with the fabric of his sleeves in a thoughtful silence.

“To tell you the truth, I didn't actually know you lived here. I needed a place to stay. I've been living in terrible rundown motels around here for weeks now. I was going to ask some of the people living here if they had a room to rent to me or somewhere I could stay,” Yuuri explained. Viktor's expression changed to something akin to understanding as Yuuri went on. “I was going to ask you if I could stay here with you, if that's okay. If I can't, that's fine too. I can always just keep looking.”

“No, no, it's fine! Really! You can stay here if you'd like. I actually have a spare bedroom you can use,” Viktor brought up suddenly, his eyes nervously staring into Yuuri's.

Yuuri gazed at him with an expression of absolute gratitude as he smiled warmly, his cheeks aglow.

“Thank you so much,” Yuuri said, his eyes gleaming with relief. “I promise I won't be a burden to you. I'm very tidy, I don't make much noise. I can cook for you too, if that's okay. I have money for rent, and — and you won't even know I'm here. I promise,” Yuuri mumbled quickly.

“It's okay, Yuuri. I don't mind a little company,” Viktor spoke honestly, smiling calmly at him.

Viktor would love any sign of life in his apartment. He almost wanted to ask Yuuri if he could make a little extra noise, just to let him know someone else was around so he didn't feel like he was alone. Yuuri was grinning in pure joy, something similar to what Viktor remembered of him at the banquet. Viktor felt like asking him about the banquet, but he decided to keep it to himself for now. Yuuri looked back up at Viktor shyly, almost looking afraid of what Viktor would say to him.

“Do we, um, have a deal then?” Yuuri wondered.

Viktor nodded.

“Sure.”

Yuuri nodded his head back at him, letting his shoulders relax.

“Oh, good. Can I ... um, come inside?” Yuuri asked.

“Of course you can. Did you think you weren't allowed?” Viktor said cheerfully, laughing at his bizarre request.

Yuuri ckuckled softly, nervously, along with him.

“Oh, uh, I didn't know if you wanted me around right now,” Yuuri confessed.

“I always prefer to have someone around,” Viktor said distantly.

“Oh, I’ve always liked being alone,” Yuuri replied. Viktor stared, listening contently. Yuuri continued quickly, feeling Viktor's gaze fall over his skin. “But ... I don't mind keeping you company, if that's alright.”

Viktor smiled.

“It's more than alright.” Yuuri beamed down at the floor, a blush present ever so slightly on his cheeks. Viktor moved aside for Yuuri, who looked up in surprise. “You coming in?”

Viktor had his brow raised in a teasing manner. Yuuri gasped and nodded hastily, walking inside, carrying a suitcase and an equipment bag with him. Yuuri took in his surroundings in awe, clutching the front of his jacket in a tight grasp. He smiled fondly as he glanced around the room like a child in a toy shop. He took it all in as if it were the most fascinating thing to him, but Viktor didn't understand why. He chuckled when Yuuri audibly gasped as he laid his eyes on the sleeping Makkachin.

The dog stirred to life at the sound of new company. Makkachin hopped up and bounded over to Yuuri, barking and woofing. He jumped up, resting his paws on the front of Yuuri’s jacket as he sniffed and licked slobbery kisses into Yuuri's palms. Yuuri knelt down in front of the dog and pet him enthusiastically. He started aww'ing, calling Makkachin a ‘good boy’ and patting him behind the ears.

Viktor clutched his chest. It was so cute.

“Makkachin likes you,” Viktor remarked, clutching his chest tighter as he beamed a smile so bright it could grow flowers.

“I think he does too,” Yuuri agreed, laughing.

Viktor dropped his hand, his smile falling from his face as he looked at the two of them together.

“Hey, Yuuri?” Viktor wondered.

“Hm?” he sounded.

Viktor paused for a moment before continuing quietly.

“You said you were my cousin ... at the hospital ... Why did you lie?”

Yuuri stopped petting Makkachin suddenly. He rose to his feet, ignoring the dog’s whining for him to continue.

“I was ... trying to avoid all the questions they would’ve asked me. I didn't know what to say to them. I was so scared,” he explained. “It seemed like the easiest excuse. They wouldn't have let me come in the ambulance with you if I didn't say I was.”

Yuuri was silent for a moment. He sighed. “And I wanted to see if you were going to live ...” Viktor's eyes widened, but he shook his head, dismissing the statement. Most people would've done what Yuuri did, surely, but Viktor couldn't help but be happy that Yuuri cared about him enough to make sure he was going to be okay.

Viktor thought again for a moment.

“The spare bedroom I have is pretty bad,” he stated.

“I won't complain. It's not for very long anyway. Only for a few weeks. Anything’s better than what I have now,” Yuuri returned, shrugging.

Viktor had even more questions still.

“Yuuri, I know I left my door unlocked the day I ... you know, but how did you know I was in trouble? And why did you just decide to come into my apartment?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri pursed his lips in thought.

“Well, um ... I heard your dog, Makkachin,” Yuuri began. “I was walking down the hall on this floor and I heard him barking. It sounded like all hell broke loose. It was so loud, I thought people could hear it down the street. I thought that maybe the dog was hurt or something was wrong,” he continued. 

He kept his gaze drawn downwards in worry. “I ... kept banging on the door and calling, but no one was answering. So I opened the door because it was unlocked. I found you and the dog and the bottle and I called the ambulance. It was the only thing I could think of.”

Yuuri fell silent, frowning sadly as he recalled the memories. Viktor smiled, reaching out and grabbing Yuuri’s hands in his. Yuuri squeaked, his cheeks a red glow as Viktor held them gently. Viktor looked Yuuri straight in the eyes, still smiling.

“Thank you for saving my life,” Viktor said and all Yuuri could do was stare.

“Y-you’re welcome,” he stuttered back.

Viktor stepped away suddenly. Just a few steps, but he never let go of Yuuri’s hands.

“Here. I'll show you the spare bedroom now, if that's okay,” Viktor said, gently pulling Yuuri towards the room by his arms.

Yuuri willingly followed, the red glow in his cheeks never calming down or fading as he stepped along, following Viktor to his room. The door was just beside Viktor’s. It looked like it hadn't been opened in years. Viktor had to let go of Yuuri’s hands to open it, but Viktor felt like he missed the contact more than he should have. Viktor wanted to lace his fingers through Yuuri’s and hold them for as long as he could.

But that just wasn't realistic. He pushed the door open, its hinges creaking slightly. Inside was a bed, its sheets a pristine white. There were boxes stacked upon boxes, cluttered all around the room. The window was pushed open, a cold breeze drifting in and blowing the white curtain up, twisting the fabric in the wind.

Yuuri stepped inside, his eyes wide as he looked around. He turned back to Viktor, his eyes gleaming, a warm smile on his face.

“It's perfect,” he said gently.

“Really? What about all these boxes?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I'll move them to the side and clean up the room,” Yuuri explained, shrugging, "All I really need is a place to sleep and a power outlet to charge my laptop.”

“You mentioned some important reasons for staying here?” Viktor brought up.

“... Yes,” Yuuri replied, tapping his foot nervously. “It's a long story. I'll explain the whole thing some other time, if that's okay.”

Viktor nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, that's fine. But for now, could you give me a quick summary?”

“Sure. Alright,” Yuuri agreed. He fiddled with the buttons on his jacket anxiously, but never actually undid them. It looked like he was trying to pass the time as quickly as possible. “I'm looking for someone,” he stated.

He paused for a moment, looking for the best way to phrase his next sentence. “I don't really know them, but they're ... a friend of a friend.” He sighed. “The only problem is, I've only talked to him online. I don't know what he looks like. But I know my way around computers. I managed to track him down.”

Viktor looked impressed, and he really was. Viktor had no idea how to do something like that. Yuuri must be really, really good.

“That's amazing,” Viktor praised with a soft smile, startling Yuuri at the compliment.

“Oh, um, thank you. It's really nothing though. Just about anyone can do that,” Yuuri dismissed quickly, his hands shaking. “Well, uh, it turns out he lives here in St. Petersburg, somewhere in this apartment complex. I just don't know which room is his. There are four floors and two units on each floor. I have to figure out which one is his. It shouldn't be too hard,” he continued.

“Why do you want to find him so badly?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri hesitated.

“It's ... nothing bad. I just want to talk to him,” Yuuri replied. "It's just ... he's done something terrible. Something horrible to me. I want to talk to him to get ... closure,” he explained. “I want to meet face to face with him. That's all. Then I'll go home.”

"Do you have someone I can call in case something bad happens or there's an emergency?” Viktor asked, tapping his foot.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I can give you my sister’s number. She speaks more English than the rest of my family does,” Yuuri agreed, nodding. He paused suddenly, thinking. “Viktor, you've been asking me all these questions, I never actually got a chance to ask you how you were,” he said.

He looked up at Viktor with such a terribly worried expression that it made Viktor's heart ache. “I mean, you've just gone through something terrible. You barely survived. I know it's not my place to ask you this, but I'm really curious why you tried to kill yourself. I just ... didn't expect it.”

“It's a long story ... I can tell you the whole thing some other time, if that's okay,” Viktor repeated Yuuri’s own words back with a small laugh.

Yuuri smiled and chuckled softly. His laugh was contagious and intoxicating. It was hard not to laugh with him.

“Right back at me, I guess,” he said in defeat. “Well, I look forward to it, when we both find the time to talk. I'd love to listen.”

Viktor smiled.

"Sure.”

The next few minutes were spent talking. Just talking. Viktor didn't remember the last time he felt so happy about simply speaking to someone. Yet, here he was. Happy.

Yuuri had put his bags in the spare room and was currently telling a story about his sister Mari. Viktor poured himself a glass of water, listening patiently. After all, he still had nowhere else to be.

“And so she sneaks out of the house and goes anyways. I was absolutely mortified when she came back drunk. She wasn't even _close_ to subtle,” Yuuri continued.

Viktor nodded to show Yuuri he was listening. He turned, staring at Yuuri as he took a sip from the glass in his hand. Yuuri seemed to momentarily forget about what he was talking about when he looked back into Viktor's eyes. It was really cute. Yuuri's cheeks lit up pink as he continued the story, averting Viktor's gaze nervously.

What was there to be nervous about? Viktor couldn't figure him out at all. “Well, um, anyway ... so she comes stumbling in, completely drunk. Mom and dad are asleep and she's making so much noise. I tried helping her up to her room, but she just kept droning on about how no one does anything right. And so she —”

Yuuri was abruptly cut off as the glass in Viktor's hand slipped and fell to the floor, splintering into pieces of grey light. The insistent _shatter_ of the glass left Yuuri startled, but Viktor didn't look down at the floor where the glass fell, nor was he looking at Yuuri. He stared, body frozen in utter horror. Standing just at Yuuri's back, looming over his shoulder and staring directly at Viktor was Pneumonia. She was faded and ghostly in form, but she was there, clear as day.

Yuuri stared at him, confused. “Viktor, um ... you dropped your glass,” Yuuri pointed out in concern. Pneumonia moved closer to Yuuri and wrapped a ghostly, slender arm around him, moving her hand to clutch his throat. Pneumonia looked like she was laughing, but Viktor couldn't hear a single sound fall from her throat. Yuuri didn't even seem to feel her touch ghosting over his skin.

Then, in the instant she appeared, Pneumonia was gone. Yuuri was still staring at him, waiting for him to say anything. “What are you looking at?” he wondered, turning around, but seeing nothing. Yuuri turned back to him, even more concerned than before. Viktor was struggling to breathe.

He was terrified. So afraid. He reached his hands up and gripped his silver hair in a violent hold, trying to keep himself grounded. “Viktor? What happened? Are you okay?”

“You have to leave! Right now!” Viktor shouted in fear, quickly grabbing Yuuri by the shoulders and looking him directly in the eyes.

Yuuri looked terrified, his eyes wide and confused.

“Why? Viktor, what's wrong?” Yuuri asked.

Viktor looked around quickly, paranoid.

“You — you're not safe here. You have to leave. Now,” Viktor said hastily, pulling Yuuri towards the door by his shoulders.

Yuuri shook his head, placing his hands on Viktor's arms strongly, stopping him before he could go any farther.

“Viktor, please. Don't kick me out. Just tell me what's wrong,” Yuuri begged, holding onto Viktor's arms tightly.

Viktor stared at him for a moment.

"You have to leave, Yuuri. Please, believe me. If you don't go now, something terrible’s going to happen to you,” he responded. “I'm fine all alone. I don't need you around, anyway. I have my dog ... I have ... I ...”

Viktor paused. He shook his head, pushing Yuuri towards the door. “Just, stay away from me! Get far away from me!”

Yuuri looked up shyly, his eyes pleading.

“Where am I going to go?” he asked.

Viktor bit down on his lip hard.

“I don't care where you go! Just, anywhere! Anywhere but here ...” Viktor’s words broke off into a whisper, promptly pushing Yuuri against the door by his shoulders. Viktor stared down at the floor, his hands shaking as they gripped Yuuri’s coat roughly.

Viktor suddenly lifted his head, letting go of Yuuri and backing away slowly. “Then ... are you one of them?” Viktor whispered. “One of the parasites? You can't be. There's no way. Is this some kind of sick joke? The only person who's brought me any joy in a long time, and you're here to kill me?”

Yuuri looked horrified.

“No! I wouldn't ever hurt you, Viktor. I've looked up to you since I was a kid! I saved your life because I wanted you to live! Please believe me!" Yuuri said. “Just calm down, please.”

Viktor put his head in his hands.

“Why _YOU_? Why would you ever want to do this to me? You have no reason!”

Yuuri shook his head quickly.

“Viktor, I'd never hurt you. Please, tell me what you're talking about. I'm so confused,” Yuuri begged.

Viktor’s hands fell from his face as realization seemed to drown him. He stared at Yuuri for a moment longer.

“Then ... No ... You ... You're—”

— _You're going to die_.

Yuuri waited for him to finish his sentence but he never did. Viktor was in a complete state of panic. How was he going to die? Why?

Why did it have to be him? Could he prevent it? What was he supposed to do? Viktor's brain wouldn't settle. It jumped from question to question, from thought to thought.

Was it inevitable? Was Viktor just supposed to give up on him? He couldn't do that. He couldn't just let Yuuri die. Viktor was thinking so hard, he barely noticed that Yuuri was still staring at him expectantly, confused and waiting.

Viktor cleared his throat. “I'm ... sorry, Yuuri,” he apologized softly. Yuuri let go of a breath he didn't realize he was holding as he let his shoulders finally relax.

“It's okay, Viktor.”

Viktor forced himself to be calm, but there was no way to be calm about this. What was he supposed to do? He felt like he was going crazy. Maybe he was.

Yuuri sighed. “What were you even talking about, Viktor? You seriously scared me.” Viktor sighed softly. _Yuuri's going to die_. Viktor ignored the thought, suppressing the feeling of torture that rose up inside him.

“I … don't know what I was talking about,” Viktor lied. “The medication I'm on does weird things to my head.”

Viktor's excuse would make no sense to anyone who actually knew what his medication did. It was a stupid excuse, but it was the only thing Viktor could tell him. Viktor hated lying to him, but he didn't want Yuuri to panic. And besides, he probably wouldn't believe him anyway. Yuuri sighed in relief.

“Don't ever scare me like that again, please. You should just be more honest with me about that sort of thing. I could probably even help you. I know I'm not the best at comforting people when they cry or have a panic attack, but I can try,” Yuuri said.

“Alright. Then, I will. Thank you,” Viktor replied.

He forced a smile. Yuuri smiled back warmly. And all Viktor could think was, ‘ _He's going to die, and there's nothing I can do to save him_.’

* * *

Viktor leaned against the doorframe, peering into Yuuri's room. It was so much nicer since Yuuri cleaned it up. The boxes were pushed aside, the room dusted, carpet vacuumed. Yuuri had changed the sheets and put his things away in the dresser. Viktor folded his arms, staring at Yuuri, waiting for him to notice that he was there.

Yuuri was laying on the bed in a casual T-shirt, jeans, and socks, leaning against the bed frame with his face practically pressed up against his laptop screen. He was typing furiously when he wasn't clicking and opening links supposedly. Viktor didn't understand how someone could stay on their laptop for so long and not get sick or bored.

“So,” Viktor began, making his presence known.

Yuuri jumped, almost knocking his laptop to the floor. He held quickly to it, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“You scared me!” Yuuri complained, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Sorry,” Viktor apologized with a small laugh. “I was just going to ask, do you want to walk with me to the rink when I go to practice everyday?”

Yuuri nodded hesitantly.

“U-um, sure. I'll go to practice with you. I ... haven't been on the ice in a while. I sort of miss it,” Yuuri said, an air of sadness in his voice.

Viktor smiled at first, so happy Yuuri would come with him, but then he frowned. He hasn't been on the ice in a while? How come? Viktor shook his head letting the thoughts sink away.

“Yuuri, I have this bottle of wine in my cabinet and I was hoping we could have a few glasses and maybe ... get to know each other?” Viktor wondered.

“I don't really drink,” Yuuri said, looking him over suspiciously.

Viktor chuckled. Of course he didn't. It only took Viktor a few moments to realize that Yuuri wasn't as confident sober as he was drunk. Viktor figured that Yuuri was probably embarrassed about what he did at the banquet, deciding it'd be best not to mention it.

"Well, I don't either,” Viktor confessed. “In fact, I'm not even supposed to be drinking while I'm recovering. But, I wouldn't mind breaking some of those rules with you.”

Viktor left the invitation open and inviting. If Yuuri didn't want to, Viktor wasn't going to push him. Yuuri's comfort was at the utmost importance to him. Yuuri looked like he was thinking as he tapped the top of his laptop’s screen in contemplation. He shut the lid slowly.

“Well, I suppose a _few glasse_ s wouldn't hurt,” Yuuri said, a small smile rising to his lips.

Viktor grinned back, and this time, it was a smile that reached his eyes.

* * *

Yuuri and Viktor sat, side by side on that grey couch in Viktor’s lonely apartment. However, Viktor wasn't feeling as lonely as he usually did. Viktor had company, and this company would be with him for as long as a few weeks at the most. It made Viktor happier than he ever imagined and it was wonderful.

Yuuri's face was beautiful. He had the most beautiful smile, the cutest blush, and those big, brown eyes. Viktor felt like the breath left him every time Yuuri looked over at him with that warm smile of his. He felt the breath leave him, just like that night at the banquet. And this breathlessness and happiness seemed to fend off the cold. 

Yuuri sipped his wine slowly, as if he were afraid of something, but Viktor drank his wine freely. He laughed and grinned and drank to his heart’s content. Yuuri sat on the farthest side of the couch from him, one hand clutching his wineglass, the other patting Makkachin, who sat attentively at Yuuri's side.

“Traitor!” Viktor had complained teasingly as Makkachin moved on from him to Yuuri.

“I guess he just likes me better than you,” Yuuri teased, giggling softly. Viktor stuck his tongue out like a small child and Yuuri laughed a little louder. “Put that tongue away, or else I'll be forced to bite it,” Yuuri threatened. Viktor’s eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Alright,” he laughed. “Do your worst.”

And Viktor stuck his tongue out again, closing his eyes. When nothing came of it, Viktor opened them again to see the most wonderful sight. Yuuri stared at him, wide eyed, blushing. Yuuri's hands were shaking and he looked shocked and surprised. Viktor only laughed.

Yuuri let out a small sigh of relief, looking up from Viktor's lips, to his eyes.

“Viktor, you're so ..."

Yuuri paused as Viktor waited expectantly.

“So, what?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri smiled and shook his head.

“Nevermind, forget it,” Yuuri dismissed, turning his gaze away.

Viktor frowned, letting the sentence go. The conversation drew into a comfortable silence, as neither knew exactly what to say next. Then Viktor broke it with a soft, curious voice.

"How important is it that you find this guy?”

Yuuri looked like the question caught him off guard.

“Very important,” he answered, sighing. "It's the last thing I need to do before I can be content with simply rotting away into the soil.”

Yuuri's morbid reply made Viktor feel worse than expected.

"What do you mean?” Viktor wondered.

“I don't know," Yuuri spoke again, shrugging. "I just have nothing left to do. Everything feels so ... pointless. Maybe I'll go back to my parents’ onsen and just ... never leave. I'm going to be retiring soon anyway. There are so many more capable young skaters that could take my place,” Yuuri said as he stared down into his wineglass.

“Why would you be retiring? You're only twenty three,” Viktor said, feeling oddly disappointed.

“You don't know me at all, so I don't expect you to understand,” Yuuri whispered, laughing humorlessly, “I'm just ... not good enough. I'm dime-a-dozen. A failure.”

“Yuuri, I know who you are and I've seen you on the ice before. Your step sequences are incredible. You have the ability to make everyone stare and you make it impossible for anyone look away. You can win gold, I know it,” Viktor said quickly.

Yuuri was frowning still, looking off into the distance like a ghost. Then he smiled and turned to look back at him.

“It doesn't matter now. But, thank you, Viktor. It means a lot,” he thanked, his cheeks glowing, his smile distantly sad.

Viktor decided to change the subject. It was clearly something Yuuri didn't want to talk about. Yuuri poured himself more wine. It was louder in the silence that followed, but Viktor always found something to say to him. Talking to Yuuri was as easy and comfortable as slipping into bed.

“How are you planning to find him? The guy you're looking for,” Viktor asked.

Yuuri swirled the wine around in his glass once, before turning to Viktor.

“I don't know. Maybe I'll go door to door again and just ask?” Yuuri thought aloud. “It shouldn't be that hard. There are eight apartments, and one’s yours, so that leaves me with only seven. I was hoping you would help me find him.”

"How do you know I'm not the guy you're looking for?” Viktor said teasingly, his smile beaming.

Yuuri laughed.

“Knock it off. I know you're not him,” Yuuri responded. His laughter died away as quickly as it began. “You wouldn't do what he did,” he said quickly, taking another sip of wine to cut himself off. “I was hoping you would help because you might know some of your neighbors,” Yuuri explained.

"No, not really. I don't really talk to them,” he said. "There is this angry woman who lives in the apartment above mine. She even threatened to call pest control on Makkachin.” Viktor put a hand to his forehead dramatically, as if he were about to faint.

"I can't believe she'd even threaten that. Makkachin's such a good dog,” Yuuri said, laughing.

Viktor let his hand fall.

“I know, right? He's the best dog in the world,” Viktor praised loudly, looking over to see Makkachin laying on his side.

The dog lifted his head at being mentioned and barked back. Yuuri started laughing again.

“Is there anyone else you know?” Yuuri wondered, turning his attention back to Viktor.

"No, not really. I'd have to think,” he said, shaking his head. Yuuri waved the thought away.

“No, it's fine. We can talk about this later,” he dismissed, waving the thought away.

Viktor smiled.

“Okay.”

This time, it was Yuuri who broke the silence.

“Weather reports say there's a terrible fog coming,” Yuuri said, making small talk. Viktor usually hated small talk, but he found it strangely comforting with Yuuri's company. “I got lost in a fog in Hasetsu once, when I was only seven. I remember crying because I thought a monster would come and take me away,” Yuuri recalled with a smile on his face. “My friend Yuuko was the one who found me.”

“But now that you're older, it's nice to know that monsters aren't real,” Viktor said.

“No, they are,” Yuuri disagreed, frowning. “They just take a more ... human form. Murderers, arsonists, thieves ...”

“I guess you're right,” Viktor said amusedly, nodding in agreement. “They technically are the real monsters. They’re nothing but ...  _parasites_.” Viktor paused. He decided to change the subject for several reasons. “So, you mentioned a friend of yours. Yuuko? What's she like?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri averted Viktor's gaze. He seemed sad at the very mention of her. Viktor almost wondered if he'd said something wrong.

“Okay ... sure,” Yuuri whispered. “She's ... dead.”

Viktor's eyes widened.

“Oh, Yuuri ... I'm ... I'm so sorry,” he said. Yuuri laughed dryly.

“It's okay. You have nothing to be sorry about. I don't think you want to listen to the things that happened to me recently. They're not ... happy stories,” Yuuri whispered.

Viktor took a deep breath.  
“I do, really. I want to know more about you,” he said.

“Okay," Yuuri said, nodding. He set his wineglass down and sat back on the couch. “I guess it's alright. I would've had to tell you about Yuuko at some point. After all, she's the reason why I'm here,” Yuuri began.

“How did you two meet?” Viktor asked.

Yuuri smiled.

"We were childhood friends. We grew up together. Her family owned the only ice rink in Hasetsu, so I saw her there often. We both skated and went to school together. We were both big fans of —” Yuuri stopped, turning to look at Viktor.

He skipped the sentence and continued. “Well, she was really my only friend. I loved her so much. I still sort of wonder what would have happened if she hadn't met Takeshi. Maybe we could've become ... more than friends ...” 

Yuuri stopped and stared at Viktor for a moment with a sad smile. “If there's anything I'm really grateful for, it's that I got to know her. And I'm glad she was happy in the time she was with her husband and her children.”

“How did she ... die?” Viktor asked, frowning.

Yuuri pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on top of them.

“She was so distant before she ... before she died,” Yuuri said. “I had told her that I was going to ... kill myself. I told her when I was going to ... and where. What I didn't know was that I was completely destroying her. She tried to tell people about it. She swore she wouldn't let me die,” Yuuri explained.

Viktor’s mouth hung open in complete shock. Yuuri looked so ashamed. He didn't even look Viktor in the eyes. “She searched around the internet for suicide prevention and how to help people with depression, but the more she searched, the deeper she went.”

Yuuri paused. “Takeshi asked me what was wrong with her. She wouldn't leave her computer. All she did was search and search. She went on the Darknet and eventually found _his_ website. C Through The Eye. It was a forum platform about suicide,” he explained. “The guy who created the website, ‘C Of The Eye,’ is the one who runs the forum. It's like a club for people who've attempted it, but never succeeded. They mostly try to help each other and offer support. Nothing bad there,” he continued.

Yuuri gulped down the air heavily. "But C Of The Eye encourages the people there to die. He incites it, whenever he comes online. He feeds on people’s weaknesses. He gives them a reason to die and gives them ways to plan it efficiently.” Viktor couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"That's ... awful,” Viktor whispered, horrified.

“Yeah. I know,” Yuuri replied, nodding. “Well, after a while, Yuuko came to me again and she tried to tell me her perfect solution. She told me that she would kill herself, the same day and same time I would, so I wouldn't be alone,” Yuuri continued.

Yuuri breathed out a trembling breath and sniffed quietly. “She said there was no chance either of us would be saved. She told me that all we needed were two easily accessible household chemicals. When mixed together, they create a toxic gas that would kill you in a minute or two. It would be painless; the ideal way to go.”

“What did you say?” Viktor asked softly.

“I told her ... not to. I said that I didn't want her to get involved. I didn't want her to get hurt,” Yuuri answered. "But she didn't listen to me. She said, ‘2:30 a.m., come to my house. I'll be in the bathroom. Don't be late.’ Those were her last words to me. And then, she left,” he continued.

Yuuri huffed out a soft breath timidly. “I cried for hours. I called Takeshi and told him, but he didn't believe me. He said that she'd never do something like that. I didn't know what I was going to do. So, I decided I would stop her, but I accidentally fell asleep. I was so exhausted from skating and crying. I didn't mean to. And when I woke up, it was already 2:30.”

Viktor stared down at Yuuri with a look of sympathy and understand, but Yuuri still refused to look at him. “I ran as fast as I could to her house, but it was already too late. Her bathroom door was locked. She had signs covering it that said things like, ‘Don't open, poisonous gas inside.’ And I — I was so ... lost. So ... broken. I — I lost her ... and ... and it was all my fault,” Yuuri finished.

When Yuuri finally turned to look at Viktor, he had tears in his eyes, pouring down his cheeks like small rivers in search of the ocean. Viktor didn't know what to say. He was at a loss for words.

“Yuuri ..." Viktor whispered, soft and gentle.

Yuuri looked up at him, his cheeks red and tear streaked, embarrassed that Viktor was watching him cry. He felt so weak. Viktor hesitantly drew his hand up from the couch and held it close to Yuuri’s face. Yuuri closed his eyes when Viktor's fingers gently touched his cheek, a feather light touch that sent chills down his spine. Viktor stared down at Yuuri with an unfamiliar warmth and wiped Yuuri's tears away with cold, pale fingers.

Yuuri started crying harder, and Viktor could tell that he was trying not to. Viktor then lifted his other hand and placed it on the opposite side of Yuuri's face, holding his head in his hands. Yuuri's eyes fluttered open and he gasped softly when he saw Viktor's eyes staring down at him with a look of genuine worry.

“It's ... it's okay, Yuuri. It's going to be okay. We'll find him. I promise,” he whispered.

Viktor saw more tears fill Yuuri's eyes, and then he hugged Viktor; clinging to him like he did once before. He sobbed into Viktor's shoulder, wrapping his arms around him like Viktor was the only warmth he had in a devastating blizzard. Viktor held his arms at Yuuri's sides awkwardly for a few moments, his eyes wide in shock. He didn't expect the hug, but deep in Viktor's chest stirred a warmth that he missed. A warmth he had longed for, for so many years.

Viktor hadn't been hugged like this since he was a small child, since he’d last had someone around who would put their arms around him and say they loved him. Viktor lifted his arms again, folding them around the smaller form in front of him and hugging Yuuri as gently as he could. He felt like any small movement might scare Yuuri away. He was afraid anything would end this hug, the first truly comforting hug he'd had in so many years. He gently rocked Yuuri back and forth.

He held Yuuri, sniffling in his arms as he tried to stop crying. It was peaceful. A silence washed over them in which both were content with not speaking for a time. It was comfortable. Yuuri was so warm in his arms.

It radiated from him and spread to Viktor, through Viktor. Yuuri's hair smelled like his soap and Viktor found it hard to ignore the way Yuuri's hands gripped strongly into his sweater. When Yuuri had finally stopped crying, he pulled away from Viktor hesitantly. Viktor reluctantly let go of him. Yuuri looked up into Viktor's eyes and smiled.

“T-thank you. I ... I normally don't like when people touch me, but ... that was nice,” Yuuri said softly.

"You're welcome,” Viktor replied breathlessly. Yuuri awkwardly moved back to the other side of the couch and looked out the window. Viktor thought to himself for a bit in the silence. “So ... there were signs on the door?” Viktor brought up. This time, during Yuuri’s reply, he looked at him.

“Yeah,” Yuuri said. “I went on the forum myself and it turns out C Of The Eye doesn't want any accidental deaths associated with his name. He makes those posters as warnings for people to print,” he explained.

“Wouldn't the police investigate something like this?” Viktor wondered, his face contorting into a scowl.

“They can't be bothered. They've tried in the past but that guy knows how to hide. It took me so long to track him down,” Yuuri said, shrugging. “But now, I'm so close. He's right here in this building.”

“I think I understand now,” Viktor replied as he nodded. “I'm not surprised you want to find him. I don't know what I'd do if that happened to me.”

“I know what I'm going to do. I want to face him and tell him what he's done to me,” Yuuri said, glaring as he spoke bitterly. His expression then shifted into a pleasant smile. “It's almost funny, because he actually _told_ me where he lives.” Viktor raised an eyebrow curiously.

“He did?”

"Yeah,” Yuuri replied. “The things he does to people he likes to call, ‘trolling,’ but it's hardly that. It's much worse.” Yuuri paused. “I know people always say, ‘Don't feed the trolls,’ but I did. He craves attention, just like any other internet anon. And that's exactly how I tracked him down.”

Yuuri smiled. “I emailed him and told him I was a huge fan. He didn't believe me at first, but I sent him so much stuff he actually wanted to meet with me. And sooner or later, I'll find him,” he concluded. “Viktor, I want you to promise me that you'll never try to kill yourself again, okay?” Yuuri said sternly.

"Of course. I promise I won't. And I never will,” Viktor replied.

"Good,” he said, sighing in relief. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that.”

Viktor smirked.

“You know, we still have a bottle of wine to finish up. I have another in my cabinet just in case, though I doubt we'll need it. Want to join me?” Viktor requested.

Yuuri grinned.

“Sure. I wouldn't mind.”

Viktor poured them both new glasses.

* * *

It only took Yuuri several more glasses of wine for Viktor to realize he'd made a terrible mistake. Yuuri was drunk. Viktor hadn't had _nearly_ the amount of wine Yuuri had, but he still felt a bit tipsy himself. Yuuri was searching his cabinets in the kitchen for a third bottle, which didn't exist.

“Where is it? Didn't you say you had another one?” Yuuri slurred.

“I did earlier, but you drank it. That was the last one,” Viktor repeated for the third time now, sighing.

Yuuri scrunched up his nose and shook his head.

“No. You said there was another one,” Yuuri disagreed. “I can't have drank a whole bottle. You're crazy. You wouldn't let me get drunk like this.”

Viktor was starting to get agitated. He shook his head.

“Yuuri, please, just come over here and sit on the couch,” Viktor ordered.

Yuuri puffed his cheeks out like a fish as his drunk mind processed the sentence sluggishly. When the sentence finally clicked, he beamed.

“Oh, alright,” he giggled.

He stumbled back to the couch with a big, goofy grin on his face. _God, he was beautiful._ Instead of flopping down next to Viktor, Yuuri sat down in Viktor's lap, straddling him. "Viktor, you're so beautiful,” Yuuri commented drunkenly, wrapping his arms around Viktor's middle in a hug.

Viktor's arms remained at his sides awkwardly, wondering what he should do. “Viktor, I love your blue eyes and your silky hair. I love so many things about you.” Yuuri lifted one of his hands and ran it through Viktor's silver hair. Viktor chuckled at the endearment.

"You do?” Viktor asked, surprised. Yuuri nodded, his face buried in Viktor's chest. “What do you love the most about me?” Yuuri made a small noise to indicate he was thinking. He lifted his head up so that they were nose-to-nose.

“Everything,” Yuuri purred, hugging tighter. "I love everything about you. I've been a fan of you since I was twelve. Your skating is so beautiful.” Yuuri moved his hand gracefully as if visualizing Viktor moving across the ice.

He encircled his fingers slowly, moving them back up to boop Viktor on the nose. “Even your nose is pretty. It gets so pink here,” Yuuri slurred, moving his fingers over the spot. Viktor stared wordlessly. “And — and your forehead,” Yuuri named.

Viktor was particularly self-conscious about it, but he never truly let it get him down. Yuuri moved his lips over it, kissing the parting between his bangs. Viktor closed his eyes and focused on the feeling. It was so gentle and soft and comforting. Viktor felt warmth pool in his stomach and in his chest.

A warmth so soft and calming, it could've lulled Viktor easily to sleep. Sleep couldn't get much of a grip on him however, because Yuuri began rocking his hips back and forth onto Viktor's lap, grinding on him like he did at the banquet. Viktor groaned and tried to reposition Yuuri differently so he was just grinding on his leg, but Yuuri whined every time he tried pushing him off. Yuuri's breath was huffing fast and hot against his neck and Viktor felt his resolve slowly slipping away. He could just go with the flow, couldn't he?

He could go with whatever Yuuri wanted, but a loud intrusive part of Viktor's brain was telling him to stop. But it was so hard to stop when Yuuri's hips felt so good, when Yuuri's lips sucked at a sensitive spot on his neck. Viktor grabbed Yuuri's hips tightly, insistently, and pressed him down onto him with more pressure. Yuuri moaned breathily into his neck and went along with what Viktor's hands guided him into. Viktor held back the noises in his throat at the increase in friction.

Fuck, this was bad. Viktor's body wanted more, so much more, but his mind was practically screaming at him. Viktor growled in frustration.

“ _Fuck_. Yuuri, I can't do this. I'm sorry,” Viktor apologized.

He pushed Yuuri off his lap and onto the cushion next to him. Yuuri whined at the loss of friction, still swaying his hips invitingly in a ghost of his previous movements.

“Please,” Yuuri begged.

Viktor’s face was on fire.

"S-sorry, I'm going to walk the dog for a bit. I'll be right back,” Viktor said, standing quickly and pulling on his coat.

Technically not a lie, but he had to give some excuse to not be around Yuuri right now. Yuuri laid down on his side, still whining.

"Well, okay. Hurry back then,” he said in a drunken haze.

He looked hopeful, lifting his hips up slightly and swaying them unsteadily. Viktor shook the image from his head.

“Y-yeah," Viktor agreed. Viktor opened the door for Makkachin, and as soon as the were both out in the hall, Viktor closed it behind him and leaned his back against it. “Holy shit,” Viktor remarked softly, arousal thick like a fog in his mind. It was so hard to think through it. Viktor had to clear his head anyway.

Viktor made his way down the steps, following after Makkachin. When Viktor reached the ground floor, he saw that through the floor to ceiling windows was a fog. A fog so thick he couldn't see two feet from the complex. Viktor felt a sense of foreboding danger grip him, a feeling of impending fear.

Maybe it was only a fear for what was out there, a fear of the unknown. But Viktor felt deep down that it was something else. Viktor pushed open the front doors and walked out, Makkachin bounding out ahead of him and down the sidewalk, no need for sight as smell seemed to guide him just fine. Viktor quickly lost sight of his dog, but he knew the streets well enough.

Viktor walked quickly after his dog, his mind wandering back to Yuuri. It probably wasn't a good idea to have Yuuri drink so much alcohol, or really any at all. Viktor certainly wasn't feeling sober either. He'd had enough to make his brain hazy and his stomach buzz like an angry beehive. The fog surrounding him seemed to make him even more dizzy than he was before.

It smoked around him, cold and fluffy and claustrophobic. Viktor could at least make out the things that he passed. They wavered out in the distance like grey shadows, haunting him. There were the outlines of a familiar fence, a bank to his right, and the cars. There were so many cars, always.

As Viktor walked on, he soon noticed the outline of a van in the distance and the outline of a figure beside it. Viktor had only just laid eyes on it, when he heard his dog yelping and growling. Viktor was frozen, his limbs unmoving as he listened. He took off in a sprint when he heard the doors of the van just ahead of him slamming shut, Makkachin's yelping ceasing with it.

“Hey! Stop!” Viktor shouted, his heart hammering in his chest.

He was only a few feet away, when he could finally make out the van and the man standing there beside it. The van was white, its paint chipped and covered in dried mud. Despite this, Viktor could make out the red lettering along the side. 'Pest Control,’ it read. Viktor's heart stopped in his chest for a moment.

The man turned to face him. He was tall and muscular in stature; taller than even Viktor. He wore a dirty grey uniform, the red, ‘Pest Control,’ logo sewn onto the breast pocket. The man’s face was obscured by a gas mask, it's fabric black and worn. The mask’s large glass eyes gleamed as they looked back at Viktor, much like an insect’s.

“Quite the fog, huh?” the man remarked pleasantly as if talking to a neighbor on his way to work. His voice was gravelly and deep, obscured by the mask he wore. “You can't see a damn thing out here.” The man laughed dryly. Viktor didn't know how to respond.

He was silent. After a few moments of nothing, the man laughed again humorlessly. “Not the talkative type are you?” he commented. “What's your name?” he asked. Viktor gulped.

“I'm … I'm,” Viktor stuttered out.

He couldn't tell this man his real name. Viktor's mind was swimming. Think of a name. Quick. “I'm … Ivan Slavsky,” Viktor lied.

Will that work? Would he believe that? The man laughed bitterly.

“Don't lie to me. I know who you are. You're Viktor, aren't you?” the man said. Viktor held his breath. Fuck. “A kind lady told me exactly what you look like. And what can I say, she was spot on.”

Viktor tightened his hands into fists as he let go of the breath he'd been holding.

"What do you want?” Viktor asked, worry present on his brow.

"I'm just here on a job. Nothing else,” the man replied. “Someone called me. That lady complained about a dog problem. Apparently this young man keeps making it worse for everyone. A young man called, ‘Viktor,’ I was told.” 

The man laughed. “I'm sorry. You're not going to like this but —” the man said, Viktor's eyes widening as he stepped closer to him, "— I'm going to have to take you with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Bleach and Pesticide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viktor suffers a lot this chapter, but I promise things will get better for him in the end. This is the most gore heavy part in the entire fic, so if that's not your style, you can go ahead and skip it. Not much else happens in this chapter, until the very end.
> 
> Also, I'm just going to put a very serious warning here to make this very clear to all of you: DO NOT MIX BLEACH AND PESTICIDE TOGETHER, EVEN TO SEE WHAT HAPPENS. IT WILL KILL YOU. YOU WILL DIE.
> 
> I also want to let you all know that I went back and heavily edited the previous chapters for typos, story flow, and I changed the format. Future chapters will also be reformatted.
> 
> Now, back to normal announcements. Makkachin makes a great plot device, but an even greater character. Chapter five will take considerably longer because it has The Most (TM) happening in it. Up Next: Viktor and Yuuri's relationship reaches a pivotal point. How? Through mutual suffering of course! (I'm sorry, please don't hurt me.) Any and all comments are highly appreciated!

_“Who knows what true loneliness is —_  
_not the conventional word, but the naked terror?_  
_To the lonely themselves, it wears a mask.”_  
_-Joseph Conrad_

Viktor's eyes shot open, his head pounding painfully. The memory slowly came back to him in the silence of the room. It only took one punch from that man and he was knocked out cold. Just his luck. Viktor sighed, trying to process his situation.

He wasn't dead yet, which was a relief. He laid down flat on his back against a mattress that smelled of rot and vomit, his wrists and ankles chained to the metal headboards with heavy padlocks. Viktor tried to move, but he found that it was nearly impossible with the position he was in. Blood was smeared along the white walls, it's paint chipped and dull. Animal cages hung from the ceiling around him in chains, all empty except for the last.

To Viktor's right, he could see one of the large cages on the ground, locked under a small metal bolt. Inside, lay Makkachin. Makkachin had his tongue lolling out as he huffed, barking occasionally. Viktor's eyes lit up.

"Makkachin, you're okay! Oh, thank god,” Viktor exclaimed, gasping in relief.

Viktor's joy died away when he heard gentle footsteps along the wooden floorboards. They creaked like screams and cries from the house’s very walls. The footsteps made their way along slowly, creeping into the room. When they stepped into the flickering grey light, Viktor attempted to move and get away, but it was a useless effort. There, in the light, was a woman.

She had oily blonde hair flowing down over her shoulders in knotted strands. She had a curvy hourglass figure, her breasts and thighs exposed in the provocative nurse uniform she wore. The color of her hot pink heels was so faded, they almost looked white. She would look relatively normal, if not for the blood that bathed her body. It splattered the front her uniform and practically soaked her heels.

Her hands were stained with it, even though they were considerably dry. She grinned at him, her teeth dyed a strange pink.

“Finally awake, little puppy?” she wondered, looking him over with an emotion Viktor couldn't name. Her voice was deeper than he expected, hoarse and broken in both pitch and tone. “What's the matter? Had a bad dream?”

The woman placed a finger against her lips and parted them to lick it. “Could I give a hug and a kiss? To take the pain away?” she said, lifting her dress up to reveal more of the skin of her leg. Viktor felt sick to his stomach. “Well, don't you worry, darling. I can help you out with that. What do you say?”

She made her way over to him, stepping over chains and broken metal bolts in her heels until she was directly in front of him. She loomed over him, looking down on him from above, darkness obscuring her face as the light was hidden behind her head. Viktor gasped, pulling on the chains again, but they wouldn't budge. He hissed in frustration and at the pain in his wrists. He didn't want to die like this, and he certainly did _not_ want this woman putting her hands on him. Or anywhere near him, for that matter.

The woman reached out to run her fingers over his chest.

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” Viktor swore bitterly, his voice tense, but the fear in his words easily defusing the threat in it.

The woman looked offended at first as she backed away slightly, but she instantly regained her composure and smiled down at him again.

"Feisty, aren't we?” she laughed. “Your eyes are so pretty. And your hair — I've never seen anything like it,” she praised. “I want to pull it when you come inside me,” she giggled, her tongue drawing out slowly from behind her lips. She trailed her nimble fingers down Viktor's coat, undoing the buttons as she went.

Viktor squirmed, trying to shake off her hand but it was futile. The woman pushed herself up onto the bed, straddling Viktor's right leg as she drifted her hand down, farther and farther; ghosting it along his waistline. Viktor felt nauseous and weak. Having her hand on his body felt so disgusting, more than he ever thought it could be. She palmed him through his pants, tracing her fingers down and up again.

Viktor yelped in both surprise and horror at the touch. Just as she had pulled down his zipper, there came a voice from the other room.

“What's going on in there?” a man yelled, his footsteps stomping powerfully into their room.

The woman hopped up from the bed and stood attentively beside it. The man who emerged from the other room, was the same one from the van. Viktor stared between the two of them wordlessly. The woman’s face contorted into a scowl at the very sight of him.

"What did I tell you about wearing that goddamn gas mask in this house?” the woman scolded.

"Sorry, love,” the man apologized as he unclasped it and pulled it off, dropping it to the floor.

The man had a stubble and a scar across his cheek, his jaw square and powerful. The man looked at her and then at Viktor. He observed Viktor for a good while, his dark eyes scanning Viktor's unbuttoned coat, to the undone zipper.

He glared at the woman, stepping right up to her. “Did you fool around with this man?” he accused, his voice louder without the mask to suffocate his voice. “ _Behind my back_?” the man yelled. “Because if you did, I swear to god I will —”

"I would never. You know me, honey. You're the only guy for me,” she interrupted, her voice suddenly lighter, sweet and innocent. “This man's just going to ...  _join_ us for dinner, remember? It was your idea.”

"Right,” the man said, smiling vaguely at her statement. “I'm starving, and I'm so sick of all those stupid animals we always get.”

"Me too,” she agreed, smiling back at him.

She stepped out of the room, but as she went, Viktor could see the woman’s face staring back at him as she disappeared up the stairs. She was smiling, sly and vicious. And then, she was gone. The man turned back to Viktor, his face harsh and bitter.

"You nasty little whore!” the man insulted. “Trying to seduce my wife? In my own home? How rude.”

Viktor glared at him.

“Look, I didn't do _anything_. Your wife, she —”

“Shut up. I’ve heard enough,” the man cut in, waving his hand in finality. He sneered at Viktor with yellow and red teeth, his gums raw and bleeding. “I know who you are,” he began. “You kept staring at her with those big blue eyes. You want her, don't you?”

"No!” Viktor denied, shaking his head. “I —”

"You think you can take her away from me,” the man continued on, despite Viktor's words.

The man reached into his uniform’s pocket, pulling out a small obscure bottle. “But I've got just the thing,” he said, holding it up to the light so Viktor could see. “I always keep this bottle handy. There's a whole box of them upstairs. It's bleach, the strongest you can get.”

Viktor's eyes widened in fear. “I'm sorry, but you give me no choice. I can't risk losing her,” the man apologized hollowly, chuckling. He stepped over to the bedside, peering down at Viktor, who struggled against his bonds. “I have to make sure she won't be attracted to you any longer.”

The man grinned without a hint of comfort or happiness to his face. “You won't need these ... eyes, and this ... face, any longer, anyway.” Viktor pulled and pushed against the chains harder than he did before. The man took the cap off the bottle. No, no.

"Please!” Viktor begged. “Just let me go! I —”

Viktor didn't receive a response, as the man tipped the bottle back and poured it. The bleach came down like a shower, warm and clear like a spring fountain. However, when the liquid reached Viktor's eyes, a pain unlike anything he’d ever experienced erupted throughout his entire body. Viktor had thought that nothing could feel worse than being stabbed to death, but this, this was worse. Viktor's mouth fell open in a silent scream.

He was in so much pain, his body didn't know how to react to it. It fried his nerves and Viktor simply laid on the bed, unmoving, as no noise feel from his throat. Viktor tried to blink, but he couldn't shut his eyelids. Liquids poured from his sockets and down his cheeks like a soupey fat. The bleach felt like it was setting his eyes on fire, burning them beyond repair and reaching farther into him with its invisible claws.

His entire head throbbed agonizingly. Viktor assumed that pain had a limit, and after hitting that limit, everything just felt numb, but he had sorely underestimated just how agonizing pain could reach. Just how intense pain could feel. His face bubbled out in blisters and scars, rippling like a blood red ocean foam. Viktor's muscles froze, his body shutting down from the intensity, and he laid completely still on the bed.

The man dropped the bottle to the floor, a low laugh escaping his lips.

"Now, you’re beautiful.” 

* * *

 Makkachin sat in his cage, barking softly. As you know, dogs don’t understand most things, but it didn’t make a difference whether Makkachin did or didn’t. Makkachin was a good dog, and he loved his master unconditionally. Now, his master Viktor was in pain. He was in so much agonizing pain, but he wasn’t moving a muscle even though he was still alive.

Makkachin had been with Viktor since he was a child. He knew Viktor better than anyone. He knew when he was in pain and when he was sad and when he was lonely. The only thing the dog knew how to do to help him, was to comfort him and be by his side. Makkachin couldn’t even do that now, being confined in his cage under a rusty metal bolt.

As the dog accepted his means of imprisonment, a woman stepped into the room with them. It was the same woman from earlier, her heels clicking as she stepped over to the bed. Makkachin heard Viktor gasp at the new sound. He was trembling, terrified, but he stayed silent. Makkachin saw the woman cock her head to the side and observe Viktor with a coy grin, her eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Hello, my little puppy,” she purred. “I see my darling husband brought out the bleach. Again! He does this every time,” she sighed, backing away from him with a disappointed frown.

Her steps were light and calculated. “Such a shame. I really liked your eyes,” she pouted, placing her hands on her hips. “Me, I’m not too fussy, but even _I_ have some standards. Won’t touch a guy like you, I’ve got to be honest.”

She giggled. “You look like shit.” She fell silent. “But, I wouldn’t want you to think I’m not a kind person. You’re in so much pain, and I have this gun here,” she said, pulling a pistol from her pocket. “It’s one of my husband’s,” she said, waving it in the air without fear or concern.

Well, what was safety to someone who didn't hold any value in human life? “There’s plenty of time until dinner and only one bullet in the chamber. Large caliber. You’d be long dead before you could feel any pain,” she continued, tapping the side of the gun as she thought. “Oh, but of course! You can’t see it, huh? That bleach turned your eyes to jelly!” she cackled.

She shrugged her shoulders indifferently and aimed the pistol at Viktor’s unmoving form on the mattress. Everything was silent as her blood-stained fingers gripped the cold metal of the trigger. But then she lowered it with a slow hand. “So ... I’ll just leave it here for you. The keys too,” she finished.

She stepped over to the rickety bedside table on Viktor’s left, placing the pistol down at the very edge. “Feel free to use them. That bullet’s meant for you, anyways,” she said, taking out a loop of keys and unlocking the padlock chaining up Viktor’s left wrist so he could grab the weapon. The woman turned to leave, dropping the keys on the table with a metallic _clink_.

Viktor lifted his hand for the first time since their conversation and pulled his arm free from the chains. He blindly reached for the bedside table, groping around. His trembling fingers brushed against the nozzle of the gun and the loop of keys, but they were just out of reach. He tried to lean his body farther, his arm stretching out, shaking slightly at the constriction. Viktor felt liquid pour down as cheeks as he turned his head.

It was as if his eyes were trying to escape from the inside of his skull.

“I ... I can’t reach ... I ... they’re —” Viktor cried out weakly, his voice desperate and no louder than a whisper.

The woman stopped.

"What’s wrong, little puppy? Can’t reach it?” she laughed slowly, her voice deeper than before, every trace of sweetness in it, hollow and empty. “Well, what did you expect? Life’s a real bitch sometimes.”

Then the woman turned with a swish of her blonde hair and left the room, making her way up the creaking staircase. Makkachin’s tail wagged, determined. The dog pushed his nose against the bars of the cage, sniffing and biting at the metal in his teeth. The dog growled, pulling uselessly at them. They wouldn’t budge.

Makkachin decided to try something else. He lifted his paw, scratching at the walls of the cage. Nothing. The dog then squeezed his nose between two of the rusted bars, pushing up at the metal latch. After a while, Makkachin’s nose began to hurt, so he stopped momentarily, only to stuff his nose back between the bars and push again.

Little by little, the latch lifted. When Makkachin heard the latch click, he pushed against the bars, swinging the door of the cage open. Once free, the dog shook himself off, his fur damp with blood, but not his own. The dog sat, barking proudly to himself. What a good boy. Makkachin turned his small head to where Viktor was lying, and barked at him.

Wasn’t Viktor going to get up and praise him? He got out of a cage all on his own! Viktor didn’t move. Makkachin barked softly. Maybe Viktor was just tired?

Makkachin noticed the chains around Viktor’s limbs and the padlocks. Was Viktor in a cage too? Makkachin woofed, bounding over to the side of his bed in encouragement. You can do it, Viktor! Viktor didn’t move.

Makkachin tilted his head, one of his ears flopping over. Viktor’s arm laid dormant at the side of the bed, limp, long given up on escaping. Makkachin barked again. Maybe Viktor just needed help? Makkachin jumped up against the bedside table, resting his paws on the unstable wooden surface.

What would help Viktor? Makkachin peered down at the two objects, panting with his tongue out. There was a metal stick. It didn’t look like the ones Viktor threw for him when they played fetch in the park. Maybe it was a new high-tech toy?

Makkachin didn’t think it would help Viktor much now. They could play fetch with the new people after Viktor got out of his cage. The second object was a loop of keys. Makkachin knew keys! Viktor used them to open things! This was what he needed!

Makkachin barked happily, taking the loop in his mouth and hopping down from the table. He nudged Viktor’s arm with his wet nose, woofing with the keys in his mouth. Viktor finally moved. He lifted his arm and pat the dog’s head hesitantly.

"M-makkachin? Is that you?” Viktor asked. The dog barked back in response. Viktor smiled weakly. “It is you. I’m so glad.”

Viktor stroked the dog’s fur softly, his hand shaking. Makkachin moved his head and pressed the keys insistently against his palm. Viktor gasped. “The ... the keys? Oh my god, it’s the keys,” Viktor said, unbelieving as he held them in a firm grip, moving his fingers over them to make sure they were really there. “God, Makkachin ... you —”

Viktor paused to laugh. “Good boy,” he praised, petting the dog joyfully and scratching him behind the ears. Viktor winced, yelping in agony as he lifted his hand to his face. “My ... my eyes ... I ... I can’t see a thing ...” Pain etched into Viktor every time he moved, his body screaming at him.

His skull felt like it was on fire, his eyes drooping like a thick, red syrup from their sockets and down his cheeks like tears. The only thing keeping Viktor from completely panicking and shutting down again was Makkachin. It was as if his dog was with him in the dark. An empty blackness plagued Viktor’s vision, so deep and heavy, Viktor thought that light could never coexist with it. Viktor was as true to the word, ‘blind,’ as the word itself, his eyes unseeing and pooling, liquidized.

Viktor fumbled with the keys, unlocking the padlock chaining his right wrist. Once both of his arms were freed, he sat up on the bed. The liquid in his eye sockets dripped onto his pants in strings of thick chunks. Viktor felt like throwing up. He wiped the fluids dripping down his face with his jacket sleeve hastily, hissing as his eyes stung and throbbed even more intensely.

He shook the keys in a trembling hand, feeling around for the keyhole on the padlocks. He unlocked one leg, and then the other, crying in agony and pain without tears. He stood up unsteadily, holding his arms out at either side as if he were keeping his balance. He felt around for where he was. There was a bench, a cage, and his dog sitting proudly, his tail wagging.

When Viktor found the bedside table, he laughed amidst pain. “The gun!” Viktor said to himself, laughing still. “I can just shoot myself! Then I'll wake up and be able to see again!” he exclaimed, suddenly realizing.

He reached for the gun, his hands shaking in desperation. It toppled to the floor with a metal _clack_. Viktor gripped the front of his coat in a strong hold, shaking his head. “No! I dropped it!”

Viktor got down on his knees, scrambling to find it. “No, no, no.” Viktor placed his hands against the wooden floor. He slid them across every surface, over every liquid pooling on its ground, into every crevice and crack. Still nothing.

Just when Viktor was about to give up, Makkachin barked. Viktor lifted his hand, holding it out hesitantly in the direction of the noise. The dog came bounding over with a gun in his mouth. Makkachin set it down gently into Viktor’s palm, before sitting patiently and barking up at him. “Sometimes I wonder what I would do without you,” Viktor said gratefully, a grin finding its way to his lips.

That dog was really incredible. “Thank you,” he said, patting the dog’s head. Makkachin panted happily. Viktor frowned, holding the gun in his hand still. Yuuri’s words drifted into his head, intrusive and all too warm and comforting.

'Viktor, I want you to promise me that you'll never try to kill yourself again, okay?’

Viktor huffed softly, placing the gun against the side of his head, his finger clasping tightly against the trigger.

"I’m sorry, Yuuri, but I’m going to have to break my promise,” Viktor mumbled out in a whisper, patting his dog one last time.

Makkachin whined gently when Viktor took his hand away. “Don’t worry.” Viktor smiled softly, curling his arm up against his chest. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

* * *

 Viktor awoke beside the bed in a pool of his own blood, a gun in his hand. He’d been greeted earlier with the same scene as the other few times he died. The house in the woods, Pneumonia nowhere to be found, candles. He breathed in quickly, his eyes opening and closing rapidly. Viktor shot up off the floor, his hand abandoning the gun and reaching up to touch his face.

He ran his hands over his nose, his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead, his hair. He was in no pain, his eyes looking around the room. He could see! He could see everything! The bed, the light, the blood, the cages, the walls, the staircase.

He sighed in both relief and joy, his hands falling from his face. Makkachin woofed happily upon seeing him awake at last. Makkachin was at his side, just as he was when he pulled the trigger. Viktor’s clothes smelled like bleach still. A strong smell.

A smell that made your skin itchy and your eyes watery. It was after a few minutes of laying on the blood pooled floor and breathing in with relieved, painless breaths, that he noticed Makkachin holding something in his mouth. It hung out, black and worn like a piece of ripped leather. Viktor stared at it. Makkachin seemed to take the hint, making his way over to Viktor and placing the object in his lap.

Viktor lifted it up with careful hands and realized that it was a gas mask. The man left it here on the hardwood floor. Viktor held to it in a strong grip as he got to his feet.

"Come on, Makkachin. We’re getting out of here,” he called, making his way to the staircase with gentle footsteps.

Makkachin yipped excitedly, following behind Viktor obediently. Viktor stopped at the base of the stairs. Directly across from his room, was another. The wooden door to it was slightly ajar. Inside, Viktor could see the pest control man who kidnapped them.

The man sat in a chair by the far wall, his back turned to him. He appeared to be sleeping, but Viktor didn’t want to test his luck. He had to come up with a plan. If he were to get into a fight that man now, and without a weapon, he’d go down hard. The man was more than twice his size, in muscle alone.

Viktor took to the stairs, one step at a time, cringing when they creaked as he shifted his weight onto them. Makkachin bounded up them with no care. He was a dog, after all. Makkachin nudged the door open with his nose. It creaked unbolted on rusty hinges.

White light poured in from the vacant walkway as Makkachin turned and waited for Viktor at the top of the stairs. Viktor soon joined Makkachin, patting his head lovingly. Viktor cautiously looked around for any sign of the woman. She didn't seem to be around. Viktor emerged from a door beside a staircase.

The staircase wound invitingly up to the second floor, its steps polished and well kept, glimmering in the dim grey light shining from the chandelier above. The curtains along the walls were parted, the windows either boarded up or covered by shoulder-high weeds clearly left to go out of control. Viktor could see, even through the mess, that the fog was still out there and that it was just as heavy as before. Viktor stepped past the staircase and towards the front entryway. Beside the front entrance was another door, which led farther into the house.

Viktor wasn't going to waste his time here. He was going to leave as soon as possible and get out with his dog alive. Viktor twisted the doorknob of the front entrance, but found it locked to his dismay. Viktor tried again, pulling as hard a he could. The door wouldn't budge.

This was just great. One of them must have the key. The question is, which one? How would Viktor even be able to get it? Viktor supposed it could be the man. He looked like the control freak of the house.

Viktor put his head in his hands, distraught. He was going to have to think of a way of getting the keys from him. But how? Viktor let his hands fall away, making his way to the door beside the main entrance. He opened it cautiously, peering inside in case the woman was there.

No sign of her here either. Where was she? Viktor stepped inside gingerly, his dog following behind him. Viktor was more than aware that if Makkachin made too much noise, he’d be screwed, but he tried not to think about it.

The room was beautiful, Viktor thinking more than it should be. It had light green wallpaper, crimson red couches, velvet curtains, and expensive looking black marble table tops. There was a door to the kitchen directly across from him and another room to his right. The woman must be making dinner now, right? It would be safer to stay away from the kitchen until he had no other options left.

Viktor entered the door to his right and shut it behind himself softly, his dog woofing quietly at his heels. It was a study with bookshelves and a green wooden desk at the far end. Papers and writing materials were arranged neatly on it. The lamp was on, its yellow light, dim and gentle in the darkness. From where Viktor was standing, he could just make out a black phone resting on the desk’s surface.

Viktor made his way to it with shaking hands. He could just call for help and get out, right? That was far better than killing them himself. He picked up the phone and turned it on. Viktor felt his face light up with joy.

It had battery and service! Viktor quickly dialed the police’s emergency number, placed the phone against his ear, and listened to it ring. After a few moments, his call was picked up.

" _Police emergency line, how can I help you_?” a police officer answered, her voice cold and indifferent.

"Um, my name is Viktor Nikiforov. I've been kidnapped,” Viktor explained quietly, his heart racing in his chest. “I don't know what to do. Please, you have to help me.”

There came the sound of shuffling papers and typing at the other end of the line.

" _What's your home address and phone number, sir_?” the officer asked him.

Viktor blinked.

"What?” Viktor said, confused. “That doesn't matter. I'm not even there and I don't have my phone. I've been kidnapped by two serial killers!”

" _I need your address to confirm you’re who you say you are_ ,” she explained calmly. Viktor sighed. He told her the address, keeping his voice low and paying attention to the noises out in the living room. The police officer hummed as she typed away on her computer. “ _Do you know your kidnappers_? _If so, what are their names_?” she asked as if reciting from a script.

"I don't know who they are,” Viktor replied, annoyed. He paused to think. “No, wait,” Viktor spoke again, suddenly remembering. “He’s this animal control guy. He drives a white van. He poured bleach in my eyes. He has a wife too,” Viktor continued. “I'd run away but the door is locked and I have no idea where I am.”

" _You've been kidnapped by a married couple. Is that correct_?” the officer reconfirmed.

"Yes, but they're serial killers too,” Viktor replied, nodding. “Please help me. There's blood everywhere. They eat stray cats and dogs. People too, I think.”

“ _Is this a case of family disturbance, sir_?” the officer asked him.

“What? No!” Viktor responded, louder this time, his mouth hanging open in confusion.

" _Calm down please_ ,” the officer requested. “ _I'm only trying to help you, sir._ ”

"Calm down? I've been kidnapped!” Viktor snapped. “Please, just track this phone number. You can find my location through it, right? Just, send the police here. Please?”

“ _Just a second, sir. Please stay on the line_ ,” the officer said. Viktor tapped his foot impatiently, the line falling silent. Viktor was just about to hang up, when the woman spoke again. “ _Did you witness cruelty to animals_?” she asked.

"What?” Viktor whispered, even more bewildered than before.

" _You mentioned that they eat cats and dogs_ ,” the officer restated plainly. “ _Did you witness any of this yourself_?”

"N-no, I didn't, but I —”

“ _Okay, please stay on the line_ ,” the officer requested, cutting Viktor off mid-sentence. The line was silent again. Viktor growled, frustrated and angry, but he forced himself to relax. “ _Sir_?” the officer called.

“Yes?” Viktor responded, sighing.

" _According to our records, you have recently been discharged from the hospital ..._ ” she began. “ _Are you currently undergoing treatment for any ... mental health problems_?”

“What? No, it's not like that,” Viktor answered, floored and insulted by her insinuation.

“ _Mr. Nikiforov_ ,” the officer sighed. “ _Please listen to me very carefully. I can get you in contact with the mental health unit you received care with recently. They can help you better than we can. You can explain your situation to them and they will help you_.”

"So ... that's it? You're just ... not going to help me?” Viktor asked, wide eyed.

“ _We are not qualified to deliver psychiatric help, sir_ ,” the officer replied. “ _We can transfer your call to them, if you need_.”

“Don't even bother! I'll take care of this myself! Goodbye!” Viktor concluded, hanging up on them with a scowl.

He groaned in frustration, kicking the side of the desk softly. What a mess. This was useless. Completely pointless. He looked at the phone again, and then glanced back at the gas mask in his other hand, an idea coming to mind.

Viktor tapped away at the dial and called his own number. He’d left his phone in the apartment when he went to walk Makkachin. If Yuuri was still there, he should be able to hear it. The line ringed, and ringed, and ringed again. "Come on, Yuuri,” Viktor called, crossing his fingers tightly in hope. “Pick up, _pick up_.”

The call was answered not even a moment later.

“ _Hello_?” Yuuri spoke, a slight slur to his voice. " _This is Viktor speaking. How may I help you_?" Yuuri improvised, giggling to himself. " _Oh lord, that sounds nothing like him_ ," Yuuri snorted.

“Yuuri! Oh, thank god,” Viktor said, sighing in relief. “It's me, Viktor.”

“ _Viktor_? _Where did you go_? _It's been hours since you left. I was getting really lonely_ ,” Yuuri whined.

"I was kidnapped,” Viktor replied, tapping his foot nervously. “By two serial killers.”

“ _What_?” Yuuri wondered, confused and worried. “ _H-how did that even happen_?”

"I don't know,” Viktor said, frowning. “I was just walking Makkachin, and then I was here. Either way, that doesn't matter right now. I'll explain all of this later. The point is, I called you because I need to ask you something.”

The line was silent for a moment.

" _What is it_?” Yuuri asked softly.

Viktor quiet for a time, thinking about how to approach the subject carefully.

"You ... you said something ... about Yuuko,” Viktor began. Yuuri made a small noise of realization at the other end of the line. Viktor paused again. “About her death. There was a poisonous gas Yuuko used. You said it was made up of two chemicals. Do you remember what they were?” he asked.

" _Why do you want to know_?” Yuuri asked after a moment of silence.

"Because these people will _kill me_. It's either me or them. I don't have any other options,” Viktor explained bluntly. “The door is also locked, and one of them has the key. I think it's the man. Please, just tell me what they are,” he said, his heart racing.

“ _Viktor, I ... I can’t ... no_ ,” Yuuri stuttered, his voice weak and timid.

“Please, Yuuri,” Viktor said again. “They're going to kill me, and the police aren't going to help me. _Please_. Yuuri, I need you.”

“ _I ... but_...” Yuuri stuttered back uselessly.

“What are they? Yuuri, tell me! Now!” Viktor demanded desperately.

“ _Okay_! _Fine, I'll tell you_!” Yuuri gave in, sighing. “ _It’s ... bleach and pesticide_ ,” he finally answered.

“Bleach ... and pesticide?” Viktor repeated back as if it were a question.

" _Yeah_ ,” Yuuri said, nodding. “ _Most households have them_.”

“Okay. Thank you, Yuuri,” Viktor said, sighing in relief.

" _Be careful, Viktor_ ,” Yuuri warned, fearful.

“I'll be fine,” Viktor assured. “I'll be back before you know it.”

And with that, Viktor ended the call. He stuffed the mask into his coat pocket and put the phone back where he found it. Viktor whistled gently at his dog, beckoning him to follow. Viktor exited the study silently, Makkachin's paws tapping gently against the hardwood floors as he went along. Viktor made his way over to the kitchen and peered in with a careful eye.

No one was there either. Good. He entered, his feet light against the tiles, listening carefully. He could hear a distant song, like a lullaby. Someone was humming something gentle and sweet from the next room.

The kitchen was a mess compared to the rest of the house. The sink was piled high with unwashed dishes, which seemed to have created their own ecosystem out of the mold and grime. The countertops were a slimy green, the floor sticky and covered in wads of hair. The fridge was stained a sickening pink shade and smelled of rot and compost. Stepping into the room made Viktor nauseous and ill, but the smell itself made the feeling worse.

Viktor huffed out a breath of determination and confidence as he thought to himself. Bleach and pesticide. Wouldn't someone keep that kind of stuff in a supply closet? Or under the sink in a bathroom? In the laundry room maybe?

What if they kept it outside? Oh god, what if they didn't even have it? Viktor's whole plan would be for nothing. He shook his head. No, no, they had to have it.

That man said there was bleach in some kind of box upstairs. Pesticide however, was a whole other issue. Where would they keep that? Viktor noticed a closet on his right. Maybe they'd keep it there?

Viktor opened it and glanced over its contents. No, there was nothing. Just cages and boxes. _Boxes_. Viktor paused.

He walked over to them, falling to his to knees to examine them. Their labels were printed on the front. The woman must’ve bought them by the bulk from the companies themselves. They had practically everything — Gasoline, Petrol, Chlorine, Vinegar, Sugar, Bleach — Viktor stopped. _Bleach_.

He pulled the box open hurriedly, grabbing a bottle in his hand and turning it over to look at the label. It was the same as the man’s. The look of it alone made Viktor's eyes sting, the memory distant but familiar and incredibly painful. He stuffed the bottle in his pocket, next to the mask and got to his feet. Pesticide ...

Where would they keep that? Viktor’s eyes locked with the cabinet under the kitchen sink. There. He quickly made his way over to it, keeping his footsteps quiet. He glanced at the dining room entryway.

The humming still drifted in from there, its melody beautiful and eerie in nature. Viktor got down on his knees and opened the cabinets, searching between the different cleaners to try to find it. He leaned farther and farther into the space, searching. When he finally reached the wall at the back of the sink, he saw it. A small, green, glass bottle of pesticide.

He sighed, grabbing the bottle and placing it securely in his coat pocket. He closed the cabinet doors, returning to his feet and retreating back against the far wall as to not be seen. He was just about to head back into the basement, when he stopped in his tracks, realization suddenly sinking in.

 _Makkachin was gone_. Viktor’s heart stopped in his chest, his stomach turning cold. His dog. Where was his dog? Viktor glanced around the kitchen in fear.

He pulled tightly at his hair with one hand, his shoulders trembling. _No_. Where was he? Just when Viktor thought things were already falling apart, the humming in the other room stopped mid-melody. Viktor's eyes widened.

An eerie silence fell over the dining room and the kitchen and it made Viktor's pulse thump loudly in his ears. Why did she stop humming? She couldn't have heard him, right? Then, from the dining room next door, Viktor heard his dog barking. Viktor gasped, rushing with soft footsteps to the dining room’s entryway.

He peeked over the doorframe, remaining hidden as he looked in from the safety of the kitchen. Viktor watched, horrified, as his dog woofed and walked around the room as if he were in no danger whatsoever. Viktor could see two chairs at either end of an elongated dining table. The room was a dark brown, the same color as the table and chairs, its wallpaper a dark mint green. On the table, laid out like a feast for a king, was meat.

Pounds and pounds of raw, bloody meat. It was stacked and organized into specific cuts and arranged to be cooked. Or not. Viktor honestly didn't know. Makkachin was sitting and staring up at the table, probably wanting the food that was on it.

On the other side of the table from Makkachin, was the woman. She held a butcher’s knife in her hand, her arms bloodied and uncomfortably red. The woman looked to have just paused mid-swing, the meat under her other hand sliced in half and folding at one end. Her eyes were locked with the dog’s, her face noticeably blank of any expression at all. Then, she grinned.

The change in expression made Viktor extremely uncomfortable. Her eyes were wide as if in shock and surprise, but her mouth suggested pure joy. They were all too conflicting. She lowered the knife and hid it behind her back with a fast hand.

“What a cute puppy,” she praised, crawling under the table to stand directly before Makkachin with a movement that looked almost too fluid, too robotic.

Viktor gripped tightly at the doorframe, his body frozen in place. “Come here, little puppy. I promise I won't hurt you,” she beckoned, her voice soft and sweet. Makkachin backed away slightly. Viktor was proud of his dog.

Makkachin was smarter than the woman thought. She frowned, put off by the dog's hesitancy. Her smile returned, however, as it didn't completely destroy her confidence. She turned and picked a small piece of raw meat off the table. She faced Makkachin again.

The dog lifted his ears curiously at it. “Come on, little one. I have a special treat for you here,” she beckoned again, holding up the meat for Makkachin to see. The dog woofed happily, coming right up to her. _Makkachin, no._

Viktor was horrified. The woman grinned wider, holding the meat out to the dog with an open palm. Makkachin sniffed at it a bit, giving it a few hesitant licks. The woman giggled lowly, unbeknownst to Makkachin, as she raised her cleaver in the air above her head. Viktor panicked, his pulse pounding loudly in his ears, in his head.

He rushed out from behind the doorframe at a fast pace, his footsteps loud and thudding against the wooden floors. The woman’s gleeful expression vanished when she noticed Viktor running at her, his face contorted into an expression of absolute hatred. She didn't even have a chance to move, as Viktor grabbed both of her wrists in a tight grip, lifted her up a few inches off the ground, and slammed her back down onto the table with a loud _thud_.

"Don't fucking touch my dog again! Do you hear me?” Viktor shouted in her face, pinning her down against the table so she couldn't move.

Makkachin barked contentedly once Viktor fell silent. Viktor glared down at her, into her brown eyes with spite and rage. She looked shocked and surprised and confused for all but a moment. And then, all of those emotions suddenly changed to ... happiness? Relief?

Viktor was confused as to why she was staring up at him like that. Then Viktor figured out what it was. It was an expression Yuuri displayed constantly when he was drunk. _Lust_. She laughed softly, her body relaxing against the table.

“Hello, darling,” she purred, wrapping her legs around his waist. “I love being pinned down by you.”

Viktor gulped, feeling sick and nauseous. “Wow, your face!” she gasped. “It's all beautiful again. But how?” she thought aloud. Viktor choked on his spit slightly.

 _Fuck_. If she found out ... Viktor couldn't think much more as the woman leaned in to kiss him. He backed away, pulling out from between her legs and holding her at arm's length.

The woman sat up on the table. “Oh,” she gasped, her smile gradually turning to a frown. “You don't want a kiss?” She left the question open for an answer, but Viktor only scowled at her in response. “Oh dear! You seem to have escaped your chains!” she said as if just noticing. “That just won't do, you see,” she continued, her eyes lighting up. “After all, you're only here for _dinner_!” she shouted, teeth barred like an angry dog.

She pulled her wrists from Viktor's fingers expertly, with a strength that caught a Viktor off guard. The woman's expression had changed to one of absolute rage, of malice and pure cruelty. She got to her feet, pushing Viktor back. She wobbled a bit on her high heels but she quickly recovered, lunging at him with a raised butcher knife. She came at him exactly like Dr. Slavsky did in his office, but this time, Viktor dodged it.

Unfortunately, he moved aside a little too late, his jacket catching the blade at an odd angle and ripping open. The fabric tore, causing Viktor to lose his balance. He tumbled to the floor, hitting his elbow against the side of the chair. The woman skidded to a halt, the points of her heels digging into the wood and leaving sharp scratches. She huffed a breath of anger out as she turned to face Viktor, who was already scrambling to his feet.

The woman cocked her head to the side like a doll and lunged at him again with the blade. Viktor pushed himself out of her way just in time. He took a few shocked steps backwards as he watched the woman easily recover and turn to him again. Makkachin had long gone, but Viktor didn't know where. What was he going to do?

The woman charged at him with the cleaver again, like an angry bull. Instead of attempting to dodge it, Viktor spun around on his heel and ran. He dashed through the kitchen and into the living room, not bothering to look back. Viktor stumbled when he was grabbed by his forearm and spun around. The woman gripped into the fabric of his coat with the might of an anaconda, squeezing his arm and pushing him to the floor.

Viktor held her by the wrist again with one hand, the other struggling to shove her off. She had a wild look in her eyes, her mouth wide open laughing madly as she pushed down with the knife. Viktor's hands were shaking, her strength rivaling his own and she pressed her arm down into his wrist, the knifepoint dangerously close to his face. The woman let go of his forearm with her other hand and grabbed his face with her nails, scratching and squeezing his cheek and jaw. Viktor tried twisting away, but she only scratched harder.

She moved her hand higher, her eyes glimmering brightly. Viktor could feel his pulse pounding in his skull, adrenaline pumping in his veins. The woman pressed her fingers into his eye with her nails, scratching and scraping them. Viktor screamed, yelping at the pain, his right eye blinded and destroyed with her fingers. He tried kicking her off, but it was no use.

The woman used the moment as an opportunity. She pushed one of her knees over Viktor's arm and laid it flat and freeing her other hand. Once it was free, she raised her arm and brought the butcher knife over her head and down like a guillotine blade onto Viktor's neck. The knife sliced his throat open easily, filling his windpipe and mouth with blood. Viktor choked, sputtering and spitting the red fluid down his lips.

He tasted the familiar flavor of iron and rust in his mouth, his eyes watering. Blood ran down his chin, pouring from his neck and spurting out, as if the walls of a flood dam had finally burst open. Viktor turned his head to the side in the direction of the couch and saw Makkachin hiding underneath it. The dog was staring at him, trembling slightly. _Makkachin's okay_.

It was all Viktor could think. The woman stabbed his neck again, burying the blade in his flesh like a knife rack. Viktor tried breathing in, but his lungs were filling up with fluid until he couldn't take in anything anymore. His chest felt stuffed full and on fire, burning. He felt like he was sinking under an ocean’s surface, drowning, so far away, with not a sound on the waves to comfort him.

* * *

Viktor awoke in the house, back in the woods. Again. Viktor was starting to get tired of this.

“Fuck!” he yelled in frustration, slamming a fist down against the shelving of candles. “Oh god ..." Viktor muttered, putting his head in his hands. “So close. I ... I was _so close_. No, no, no.”

Viktor was so tired of being in so much pain. He just didn't want to die anymore. It hurt, so much. It hurt. Viktor was on the verge of collapse.

He wanted to give up. He'd had enough of this pain and torment. Was this his punishment? Was this hell? Viktor didn't understand why he was the one who was chosen for this.

Why was he chosen to go through this horrible, horrible pain? He didn't understand. Viktor pulled himself together, for just this one moment. He breathed in deeply and let out a long sigh of exhale. Viktor blew out a candle.

His eyes shot open, wide with fear. He was still on the floor of the living room where he died, the distant sounds of humming washing over him from the dining room again. He reached a hand up to grab his throat, but he found that there was no wound. Only the blood that stained his face and the memory itself, again. Viktor turned his head back to the couch to see Makkachin still hiding beneath it, just like he had been when Viktor died.

Viktor sat up, patting down his pockets and smiling in relief when he found that the things he needed were still there. Makkachin emerged from under the couch, woofing softly up at Viktor. Viktor ginned.

“You're okay ... Makkachin ... I ...” Viktor whispered, willing down the tears that rose to his eyes.

He hugged Makkachin and said nothing more. He didn't need to. He just hugged the dog in his arms tightly. He just wanted to leave. “I'm going to end this, Makka,” Viktor whispered to him, stroking the dog’s fur with a cold hand.

Viktor pulled away, looking Makkachin in the eyes. “Wait by the front door, okay, Makkachin? I'll be right back, I promise.” The dog woofed at him as if replying and made his way over to the door by the stairs. Viktor smiled as he watched his dog sit down and wait patiently for him with a tongue lolling out happily.

Viktor got to his feet too, walking back into the walkway, past Makkachin, and right up to the basement door. Viktor took a deep breath. This was it. He opened it and stepped inside. All light faded from the room around him when he closed the door tightly behind himself.

He made his way down the stairs blindly with a light step. When Viktor made it to the very bottom, he could see the man still sleeping soundly in the chair, his back to him. Viktor pushed open the agape door to the room noiselessly and walked in, his eyes locked with the man's sleeping form anxiously. If the man woke up, Viktor did _not_ want to fight him. He would die again for sure.

The man slept beside a gun rack, a shotgun resting in his lap. Viktor hadn't noticed it before. Around the room, boxes and empty buckets were scattered, probably used for storage. Viktor took the mask from his pocket. He held it in his hands and examined it, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

He pulled it over his face, clasping it behind his head. This was it. Viktor shut the door to the room and pulled one of the buckets close to the man's chair. He pulled the cap off the bleach, pouring it low in the bucket so it wouldn't be as loud. He set the empty bottle on the floor, pulling the pesticide out last.

He did the same with it and waited. Viktor stared down into the bucket, the fluid inside turning into a grey, blue color. It was mesmerizing. The man in the chair coughed and choked softly, but he did not wake up. He never once realized he was dying.

It was a horrifying thought, but Viktor forced himself not to think about it. After a few minutes, Viktor was sure the man was dead. He rose to his feet and made his way over to the man's body. Viktor reached out and felt the man's neck. No pulse. His chest wasn't rising or falling either.

Viktor sighed in relief. He grabbed the shotgun from the man's lap and felt the man's pockets. They were empty. Where was the key? Viktor felt the breast pocket too. Nothing.

Did the woman have the key after all? If she did, Viktor was going to get it, whether he killed her for it or not. He simply did not want to spend a single second longer in this house. Viktor left the room hastily. He walked up the stairs without care, slammed the door open and walked quickly, past his dog, and into the living room.

His footsteps were dulled by the carpet, but Viktor didn't care how much noise he made anymore. He just wanted to get out of here and go home. He walked into the kitchen and kept going. The woman's humming ceased as soon as Viktor entered the dining room, her eyes widening in shock at the very sight of him.

"H-huh? How ... how are you still alive?” she stuttered, her hands shaking, her gaze glancing up from the shotgun to Viktor’s face. His eyes were harsh, narrowed, and unforgiving. “This is impossible. This isn't happe —”

Viktor shot her point blank in the chest before she could finish the thought. The gun’s vibrations were powerful against his arms. The shock that ran though him from it was exhilarating, the recoil, intense and heavy. It dug deep into his shoulder painfully when he pulled the trigger, but he managed to keep himself from losing his grip on it. Blood spattered across the clean, green mint wallpaper as the woman fell back, hitting the wall behind her.

She wheezed, her eyes wide at Viktor's sudden cruelty. She opened her mouth once more, as if about to speak, but all that came out was a cough and the struggle for breath. She slid down the wall, smearing blood with her as she went. She laid back, lifeless against it, her eyes dull with tears that never had the chance to fall. Viktor’s ears were ringing, but he didn't care.

He made his way over to her body, setting the shotgun down carelessly beside her. He only had to pat her down for a few seconds, when he felt the outline of a key in her breast pocket. He pulled it out and held it in his hands gently, his smile soft and unbelieving. He was going to go home. He hurried to his feet and dashed towards the front door with joy in every step.

He could go home and see Yuuri again. _Yuuri_. Viktor was greeted by an overexcited Makkachin, who panted and wagged his tail energetically. Viktor leaned down, placing his hands on his knees to talk to the dog directly.

“We get to go home now, boy,” Viktor told him, the gas mask he wore obscuring his words.

Makkachin barked back joyfully. “That’s right. Home,” Viktor replied, laughing and pretending to understand the dog. “You want to see Yuuri again, don't you?” Makkachin woofed back once more. “Yeah, I do too,” Viktor chuckled.

He rose to his full height again, turning to stare at the front door directly. His smile fell as he sighed. “I do too ...”

* * *

It was dark out when Viktor finally got back to his apartment complex. He had long since abandoned the gas mask out in the fog. He walked for hours through a field, and then through the streets. Eventually, he stumbled upon someone out on the sidewalk who could tell him where he was. Viktor made his way up the steps of the complex to his floor, exhausted and drained.

He felt like falling over and collapsing. However, Makkachin was still wide awake. His dog startled him when he barked and yipped, leaping up the rest of the stairs two at a time to Viktor's apartment door. A surprised voice greeted the dog.

“Makkachin! Hi, boy. Where's your dad?” the voice asked curiously.

The dog barked a few more times as Viktor's heart raced in his chest. _Yuuri_. Viktor walked up the last few steps and rounded the corner to see him. Yuuri was sitting out in front of their apartment, his back flat against the door. Makkachin licked his face lovingly as Yuuri pet him.

Yuuri giggled a few more times, before finally noticing Viktor staring at him. Viktor's eyes were wide in surprise. Yuuri waited out in the hall for him? For how long? Why?

Yuuri’s smile fell from his lips as he rose to his feet. He stood unsteadily, still a little drunk.

“Where have you been?” Yuuri asked him, not accusingly, but softly, with worry and care. “And ... are — are you _bleeding_? Viktor!" Yuuri walked over to him, putting his hands against Viktor’s blood-stained cheeks. Yuuri tried to gently swipe the blood away with his thumbs, but it had long dried to his skin.

He stared up at Viktor with big brown eyes, gleaming with tears that threatened to fall. “Viktor ...?”

“I'm fine, Yuuri. I promise,” Viktor assured, smiling fondly at him. “It's ... not my own.” The lie felt hard in his teeth, sharp on his tongue. He didn't want Yuuri to worry.

The tears spilled from Yuuri's eyes easily, but he looked like he was holding it back.

“So you really ...” Yuuri gasped, pausing to quickly wipe the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. “I — I thought you wouldn't ever come back ... I ...”

“Yuuri ...” Viktor said his name softly.

He loved the way it felt rolling off his tongue, the way it was constantly on his mind. It was such a beautiful name. Viktor closed the space between them and wrapped his arms around Yuuri, holding him close. Yuuri was warm and his hair was so soft. Viktor kissed his forehead.

“Viktor ..." Yuuri cried, returning the hug and nuzzling into his neck. Viktor felt hot tears on his skin and against his coat. Yuuri pulled away suddenly. “You ... you smell like bleach ..." Yuuri whispered, looking up into his eyes.

“Yeah. One of them tried to pour it in my eyes, but they didn't do a very good job of it,” Viktor explained, chuckling lightheartedly.

Yuuri pulled on Viktor's coat in a tight grip, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

"God, Viktor. I'm — I'm so glad you're still alive,” he sobbed into his shoulder.

And Viktor held him for the second time that day, just like that. For a long while, the two of them just stood out there in the hallway, wrapped in the comfort of each other's arms. It was something Viktor desperately needed after what he'd been through. A hug. Yuuri was the first to pull away from it.

He escaped his arms gently as Viktor reluctantly let go. Yuuri stood, looking up at him. “Why do I have to cry so much?” Yuuri mumbled to himself quietly, agitated and angry as he wiped his tears away.

“Yuuri?” Viktor began, staring down at him with such a look of love that Yuuri forgot how to breathe for a moment.

“... Yes?” Yuuri answered, his cheeks glowing.

“I saw something in the fog,” Viktor continued.

Yuuri held his breath, worried.

“What was it?” he asked.

“I saw ...” Viktor paused, looking down at him with cold blue eyes that refused to cry, before speaking again. “... I saw a monster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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